Final Fantasy VI: Children of the Magi
by Sudentor
Summary: One thousand years ago, a war tore the world apart and built a border between humans and magic. One thousand years later, in a world of turmoil, it will all reunite once again. An indepth novelization of Final Fantasy VI.
1. Prologue

**Children of the Magi  
An In-Depth Novelization of Final Fantasy VI**

**Book One: Orbis Pondera**

**Prologue  
Girl of Fire**

Lieutenant Cyne Sutherstrom walked forward ever so hesitantly into the pool of blood.

Already, alarms were being set off throughout the Imperial Palace in Vector, a mindless, rattling racket sounding throughout the world, but, as far as the eighteen-year-old Cyne was concerned, that was a very, very far off sound, one that hardly occupied his attention as he merely acknowledged its presence in the very back of his mind.

Medics were probably being rushed from everywhere around the palace, soldiers as well, to contain the situation. Already, he could hear footsteps in the distance, as well as orders being hollered for various men to be assembled. In the metallic pyramid of the Imperial Palace, a pyramid which stretched for the skies in full industrial splendor, everything was to be performed at peak proficiency, perhaps as Vector's testament to high technology. The soldiers knew where they were to report to in emergencies such as this, and the response team would be here quickly, especially those who would conduct the relief efforts.

Cyne wasn't certain that the medics needed to come, though. The scorched, if not still-burning, bodies lying across the crimson pool seemed to have all life extinguished from them.

It was sunset at Vector, as the skies cast a fiery orange glow throughout the sky, not quite unlike the color of the flames dancing at the perimeter of the Imperial Palace, right outside the bleak, metallic, gray-and-brown palace walls. On the other side was the city of Vector itself, buildings built out of wood and stone, not impressive at all compared to the metallic splendor that was built before it. The buildings themselves reached heights of two stories, perhaps even three, but they were still dwarfed by the palace itself. Sharp angles of the factories within the Imperial Palace jutted into the sky, casting harsh shadows through the cityscape, painting a morbid picture of the largest capital of the world. Fires flickered, danced through the air, but Cyne slowly navigated through fire and blood, his boots silently moving across cobblestone on the street filled with at least a dozen bodies. He recognized some of the bodies, two Imperial soldiers here, a child there, some passer-by to the right, and yet another two children in front now...

All scorched. All burning. All dead.

Cautiously, as Cyne's long white hair danced with the flames, he continued forward into the center of the circle of bodies and fire. He knew that there was someone now, a soldier, who was situated directly next to them on top of the twenty-foot-high castle walls, watching this, coordinating the relief effort, shouting orders that Cyne wasn't paying attention to. Cyne didn't care; he didn't report under their command. Instead, he continued walking, walking into the center of this massacre. Because, before him, there sat a small, lithe figure in the center of the circle of fires, and, unlike the others, she wasn't scorched, burning, or dead.

Cyne quickly suppressed a sigh, which would've been inappropriate for the situation, and the spirits of the dead around him would not appreciate such a gesture of frustration. But it _was_ the third time in four years.

His boots clicking quietly against the cobblestone ground, Cyne finally made his way next to this small figure, this small child who sat in the center of dead bodies and burning fires. With a great amount of courage mixed with fear, Cyne knelt down next to her. It was an understatement to say that Cyne was scared; truth to be told, Cyne was terrified. He could already envision his charred, black corpse, burning a bright orange along with every other body here.

But, somehow, he had a gut feeling that it wasn't going to happen to him. And Cyne's gut feelings had a habit of being usually right.

He could hear quiet sobs now, short, wet, gasps of breath from the figure who sat there, hunched together like a little ball, crying, exerting her sorrows through its common exhibition, tears. There she sat, barely four feet tall, dressed in white robes stained red with the blood that had flowed through the cracks of cobblestone and under her like thousands of little rivers and creeks, staining that white into a dark crimson. Her dirty blond hair, almost a pale green, flowed from her head, touching the ground, and its appearance, with the blood matted onto them, seemed a lot more ghastly than the bodies around it.

Cyne knelt there for a moment, allowing the crying girl to sense his _presence_, to let her know that he was _there_, before whispering ever so softly and gently into her ear.

"Terra," came out of Cyne's lips, "Terra Branford."

The girl's sobbing came to a decrescendo as it decreased in volume, her sobs becoming less frequent, before the six-year-old girl turned her head slowly to the right, and cast her wet, green eyes onto Cyne's own. She sniffed once, but, as far as Cyne was concerned, the danger was now defused.

"What happened?" Cyne asked kindly, almost as though he was asking a question about what cookies Terra liked best, "Terra? Answer me. What happened here?" He knew that he had to take this carefully, slowly. _This is a young, six-year-old girl_, Cyne reminded himself, _a sensitive little girl who will light you ablaze if you make her cry._

Terra sniffed once. "They were bullying me," Terra whispered, her voice cracking at the edges and sounding ever so innocent, "They were making fun of me and throwing rocks at me..."

Cyne nodded in understanding, suppressing the second sigh that became stuck in his throat in the last one minute. _Imperial edicts go out for a reason_, Cyne thought to himself bitterly.

"Well," Cyne asked, "Are you alright?"

Terra seemed to mull that question over for a moment, uncertain as to how to answer. Finally, she looked herself over, looking at a body covered with blood that was not hers. Either she could tell whether the pool of blood had some of her own in it or not, or she didn't really have a clue. Regardless, she nodded.

Cyne smiled as the medics finally appeared from behind the walls of the Imperial Palace, closing down on them. Other relief workers hauled buckets of water, beginning to put out the flames. A sergeant was barking orders as he came down upon them. Gently, ever so gently, he placed his arms around Terra, one across her back, the other across her legs, and lifted her up gently, not minding the blood that had gotten onto his clean black uniform, or, at least, pretending not to mind. With Terra in his arms, Cyne walked slowly back towards the Imperial Palace, steering himself clear of the corpses on the ground, ignoring the salute that the sergeant in command gave him as he passed. He only needed to bring Terra back to the Palace.

"Terra," Cyne whispered with a frown and looked down when he sensed that Terra's breathing had eased, and she was calmer now, "You'll have to learn..." Cyne paused in mid-sentence, and a sigh finally come out from his mouth this time, but it was accompanied with a small, soft smile.

Terra was asleep.

* * *

Downing his mug of ale, Cyne silently put down the glass container as soon as he had finished the last remaining drops of his drink. One mug of ale was not nearly enough for the alcohol to go for his head, but Cyne still felt tired, nonetheless. As he sat at a table for two at the local bar, the Green Dragon, his tired eyes looked around the building; other figures were also seated on wooden chairs in front of wooden tables all around, their faces barely visible with the dim lighting in the room. There was a slight commotion from another side of the room; that would be some Imperial soldiers, obviously getting drunk and having a small party of their own. 

Cyne didn't mind. It was none of his business.

Overhead fans spun and spun, almost providing a hypnotizing effect for Cyne as the cool air brushed through his long white hair, which reached for his waists and also covered a bit of his clear blue eyes, which, by now, were tired. He looked over across the bar; the bartender had disappeared somewhere, and now, only four other tables were occupied, three of them by civilians, one by that group of partying Imperial soldiers. Cyne knew better than to cause a ruckus at such an hour and had half a mind to walk over there to reprimand them.

_This is not one of those nights_, Cyne thought.

The paperwork and questioning that had caught up with him last night and this afternoon was not something he had been looking forward to when Terra decided to set a dozen of the city's population on fire. Naturally, the higher echelons wanted to know why the situation was out of control, and, when talking about the half-human, half-Esper girl, Cyne's superiors refused to cover for him. Of course, Cyne knew that he would not be prosecuted or face any charges if he handled it correctly; he had the Emperor to thank for that. But it was still a very tiring process that he never wanted to undergo again.

"Colonel Vickers never approved of your transfer to Military Intelligence," a voice said in a matter-of-fact voice as someone sat himself down into the seat opposite Cyne's. Cyne turned slowly and glanced over the familiar man who was now drinking his own mug of ale, smiled.

"And I'm sure the colonel approved of your promotion to squad leader in the Imperial Air Force," Cyne gave a tired grin. The newcomer smile lightly, bobbed his head just a bit in agreement. He put down his mug, rubbed his short blond hair for a moment, then proceeded to loosen the green uniform of his, indicating that he was an officer of the IAF. The young man, unlike Cyne, had a gruff, business-like look to him, although Cyne knew that it only went skin-deep; when off-duty, Wolfang Swift was rather relaxed and friendly, and had a cynical sense of humor that was sometimes a pleasure to listen to. Like Cyne, he was yet another young man who volunteered for the corps in order to fight for his Empire; like Cyne, Wolfang had not even reached his twenties yet.

"You'd be surprised," Wolfang replied with a grin, "At least Colonel Vickers doesn't see me doing a pen-pushing job behind a desk."

Cyne laughed, leaned back against his chair as it made a groan as Cyne settled his lean body against it. He placed his hands behind his head, relaxing. "Yes," Cyne grinned sarcastically, "You are now pushing buttons, seated behind the controls of a sky armor. Big difference."

Wolfang laughed at that, and took another drink of his ale. Cyne allowed him to drink, bringing an interval to what would've been a very long period of banter. Laughter exploded from the other side of the room again; the Imperial soldiers at the table were obviously getting rather drunk.

"What has it been, Wolfang?" Cyne asked, his eyebrows raised, "Two months, three? I can hardly keep track of the goddamned time anymore."

"Three," Wolfang nodded, placing his mug down, "Yeah, three sounds right. With you here in Vector and myself in the campaign in Chiron."

Cyne slowly nodded, noting that they had just stepped onto uncomfortable ground. "Chiron..." he whispered.

"We were lucky we had MagiTek," Wolfang said as he turned to the left slightly, his eyes distant as if exploring hallways of his memories that he did not necessarily want to revisit, "They had a lot coming, came with everything at us. In the end, we had no choice, just..." he formed his hand into the shape of a gun, "..._bang_, razed the city to the ground. You won't be finding Chiron on the world map anymore."

"No," Cyne agreed quietly, pressing his hands together and looking away as well, "We won't."

Wolfang nodded for a moment, quiet, allowing himself to think for just a moment. After what seemed like an eternity, Wolfang spoke again. "I heard about what happened yesterday," Wolfang said bluntly. Cyne rolled his eyes and groaned, moved his hands to his eyes as he closed them.

"Don't get me wrong," Wolfang said cautiously, knowing that it wasn't something to talk about easily to Cyne, and especially not in a bar, where alcohol tended to loosen the tongues of men, "But I was mostly wondering if you were alright handling the girl. I'm not privy to the plans of the higher echelons, but I figure you're stepping into the wrong territory, man. A very dangerous territory that I'm not sure I like to see you in."

"I am _not_ going to disobey a direct order from the Emperor, if that's what you mean," Cyne muttered, his eyes still closed as he rubbed them through the eyelids with his hand.

Wolfang paused for a moment, then shrugged. "I didn't know they came from that high up," Wolfang replied, paused again, then added, with a bit of an edge in his tone, "You sure you're fine telling me this?"

"Wolfang," Cyne's voice sounded tired as he continued to lean back in his chair, "The Emperor had issued an edict two years ago when they decided that Terra should be allowed to walk around the city every now and then. It's no secret that Terra is special. And those foolish enough to ignore the edict and molest Terra just because she's _different_..." Cyne stopped, let the words hang in the air. Wolfang would be astute enough to figure out the rest.

Wolfang shrugged. "So that's the case that happened yesterday?" he asked.

"It wasn't just_yesterday_," Cyne continued, his eyes still closed, still tired, "This is the third time in four years. The first time it happened, she killed the Branford family in the process, setting the house on fire. That's why she's in my custody now. Then she did it again a year ago, when the children started taunting her. She burnt them directly. And then there was yesterday..."

"I get it, I get it," Wolfang interrupted Cyne, knowing that it was sensitive ground for him, "Although I'm not sure you're supposed to be telling me this."

Cyne looked at Wolfang in an annoyed manner while still leaning back. His chair was precariously balanced on its rear two legs, and every now and then, it made a creak or two. "Wolfang," Cyne muttered slowly, "I'm an intelligence officer. I know when it's prudent to keep my mouth shut, and I know what I'm not supposed to talk about."

Wolfang grinned. "I was under the impression that the intelligence community loves to gossip," Wolfang licked his lips, "But no worries, I know you. I think it's probably why they dumped the girl on you in the first place. Everyone's going to tell you secrets, and if it's blown, you'll be the first to be suspected. You should have learned to yap when you want to."

Cyne snorted, covering his eyes with his arm. "I never would've made it into the intelligence community had I done so," Cyne whispered.

"True, that," Wolfang agreed, and took another sip of his ale.

* * *

"Terra, we need to talk." 

Terra turned her head quickly in Cyne's direction, her bright and ever-attentive eyes meeting Cyne's immediately. Sitting on the green carpet with a new pair of white robes on, she fixed her attention from a crayon drawing to Cyne, who was now standing right beside her. Her gaze nearly disarmed Cyne; Cyne loved the clear eyes of this girl of his, and Cyne felt difficult to have to discipline her in any way. The desire to spoil her almost got the better of Cyne, but Cyne steeled himself. She would have to understand.

It had been three days since Terra had set a dozen people on fire. Among them were six children who had teased her, a woman who, according to witnesses, berated her for being "special", three soldiers who stood there laughing at the scene, and two uninvolved prostitutes who had the misfortune to pass by. Cyne knew that this incident would spread through rumors like a wildfire across Vector, and fear and contempt for Terra would only build. There would be grumbling everywhere, and hate for the girl. The edict would be obeyed, at least, for a while, while the populace remembers that Terra could, and would, burn people to a crisp should she lose control. But that itself did not solve the problem, and Cyne did not approve of keeping Terra confined within castle walls.

_You cannot keep a six-year-old girl in a castle and defend her against problems she will have to deal with sooner or later_, Cyne reasoned to himself as he steeled himself, staring in Terra's eyes as he reminded himself why he needed to do this.

Terra probably considered Cyne's housing in the Imperial Palace the only safe haven in a world of strangers. As a middle-ranking Imperial intelligence officer, Cyne was required to keep his post within the palace. He was not high-ranking enough to earn himself a manor down in the Imperial Residential District to the east of the palace, but his own "housing" was not half bad. As intelligence officers were elevated to mythological status by the military hierarchy, Cyne found his position being elevated daily, rank being pulled apart from himself and the simple grunts who fought on the frontlines. Cyne's quarters was typical for a lieutenant of Imperial Intelligence, otherwise known as "Double-I" or "Double-Eye". With one bedroom, one living room, one kitchen, and one bathroom, Cyne's personal space was probably the equivalent of twenty regular infantrymen. His quarters was not, by any means, luxurious. Like almost every other room in the Imperial Palace, it was metallic, although the carpenters at least did a hastened job of putting up yellow wallpaper, which Cyne appreciated immensely. He also spent some funds to have the entire floor paved with green carpets ever since Terra came in. Technically non-regulation, but the officials close to the Emperor gave him the nod; they seemed to approve giving Terra more comfort.

Any soldier who did not know Cyne's special situation would've laughed with a glance through the room; Cyne did not have too many belongings himself, but the entire place was littered with Terra's own personal trinkets, including toys, balls, dolls, and crayon drawings taped unevenly on the walls. Cyne had always wanted to laugh a bit every time he saw one of those drawings, but reminded himself that this was a six-year-old girl he was dealing with, with unchecked enthusiasm and dreams for the sky. He put up with it and smiled.

Cyne sighed, tired, as he dropped down to his knees beside Terra in the living room, then decided against it as he sat down completely, cross-legged. Cyne made a soft roaring sound, like a tiger who has caught his prey, and tickled Terra softly. Terra giggled as she tried to pry his fingers away. Cyne smiled inwardly; how he adored this little girl, this girl with curling, dirty blond hair, and blue eyes that seemed to be made of the waters that Mother Earth endowed upon the planet.

"Such a cute little girl," Cyne cooed to the little girl squirming in his hands, "One day, a bad guy is going to come along and snatch her away."

Terra playfully stuck her tongue out at Cyne and smiled sweetly. Cyne smiled back as he stopped tickling Terra and settled her on his lap, looking down at her. "Terra?" he whispered.

"Yes?" Terra replied softly.

Cyne pursed his lips. "We need to talk about what happened three days ago."

The smile disappeared from Terra's face almost as if it had been wiped out by an eraser. But, after a moment, she nodded slowly, calmly.

Cyne sighed as he pursed his lips; now that he got Terra listening, he didn't know how to proceed. He thought for a moment, watching Terra's ever-intent eyes on him, before he finally struggled with the reply. "Terra..." he said awkwardly, "...What you did three days ago..." he paused, groped for words, and finished pathetically, "...it was wrong."

_Great job, Cyne_, Cyne berated himself in the back of his mind.

"What I meant was," Cyne began picking up speed, hoping he did make himself seem too foolish before Terra, "People died three days ago. They were burned, and they died."

Cyne cursed himself as he watched Terra looking at him, her face so full of curiosity and uncertainty and sadness; how in the world do you reprimand a girl for multiple-murder? He should have consulted someone first, or asked someone with better people skills to handle this.

_Yeah_, Cyne made a mental sneer, _someone will know how to deal with a girl who killed a dozen people by the age of six._ He immediately regretted his choice of words immediately, and gave himself a mental slap. He suppressed a sigh; he _was_ tired, and the fact that Terra had burned a dozen people didn't help.

"But they threw rocks at me," Terra whispered, her voice barely audible, "They were being mean to me."

_A typical six-year-old response_, Cyne thought.

Cyne licked his lips. "Terra," Cyne said as he rocked Terra in his arms gently, "Some people are afraid of what they do not understand. You are a very special girl, Terra, and you do not deserve this, but some people don't know that. They are not bad people, just people who are afraid."

"But why are they afraid of me?" Terra asked in a quiet, curious voice, almost hurt, as if anyone would ever be afraid of a small six-year-old girl like her.

_Well, because you have the ability to set people ablaze and kill them almost instantly_, Cyne's mind received his first answer, _and that the Empire is giving you special consideration; that is sure to piss off our taxpayers._

No, that obviously wouldn't do.

"Because, like I said, you are very special," Cyne replied slowly, "You can use magic, something that no one has been able to do for one thousand years. So many, many people don't really know what magic is, and they are afraid because of that. So we're trying to is to let everyone know that you are a good girl with the power to use magic. We want them to understand, but people cannot understand when you set them on fire. Magic is a good and a bad thing..."

"How does something be good and bad at the same time?" Terra frowned, not understanding.

Cyne smiled. "Imagine a knife," Cyne said, jabbing two fingers outwards as if it was a blade, "A knife can help you cut things, like paper or bread, and it's a lot better than tearing. But, at the same time, it can cut people, hurt people, kill people."

Terra blinked and frowned. "But that is not the fault of the knife," she whispered, as if she were the one teaching Cyne, and not the other way around, "It is the fault of whoever uses the knife. This does not make the knife good or bad."

Cyne had to stop himself from frowning; for a girl her age, Terra was unusually perceptive. "Well, yes," Cyne agreed, "But such is the same as your magic. Your fire. When people are cold, you can use fire to warm them, but, at the same time, you can use fire to hurt people, like what you did three days ago."

Terra looked away for a moment, but it was obvious that tears were welling in her eyes. Cyne cursed inwardly; he should not have directly associated Terra with the deaths so many times. Cyne wrapped his arms around Terra gently, rocking her back and forth. "Terra, Terra..." Cyne whispered to the girl gently, "You are a good girl...but you need to learn to control yourself. No more hurting people when you get angry or sad."

"But they were mean to me," Terra sniffed.

_And back to the question at hand_, Cyne made a mental groan.

"Terra," Cyne said, "Have you ever been mean to anyone?"

Terra shook her head almost immediately. Cyne didn't need to be told that; he could not imagine his little Terra bullying anyone. He pursed his lips again, tried another method. "There was once a poor family, a father, a mother, a boy, and a little girl, like you. They did not have enough money to buy any food, and the boy and the girl were often hungry. The mother and the boy got sick, but because they did not have enough money for a doctor, the mother and boy died, leaving only the father and the daughter alone in the world. One day, the little girl becomes hungry, but they have no money left for food. So the father goes into a store and steals the food in the store. As he tries to run away, though, a soldier who was passing by saw this, and swung his sword at the father's head, killing him..." Cyne turned his head to Terra, who seemed to be frightened and saddened by the story, "...Do you think the father should have died?"

Terra thought for a moment, probing for the emotions hidden deep within her heart, then shook her head slowly.

"But he was being bad," Cyne continued, "He stole from the shopkeeper."

Terra frowned ever so slowly; it seemed that she was having a bit of trouble trying to catch up with the logic. Undoubtedly, Terra sympathized with this imaginary father, but could not find any way to express why he felt the father should not have been punished.

Finally, Terra spoke. "But if he didn't steal, then the daughter would be hungry," Terra replied softly.

Cyne nodded. "She would," he agreed.

"Then why didn't anybody give him a job?" Terra demanded, seemingly furious as tears streamed down her cheeks, and Cyne figured he had gone too far, "If he had a job, then he would have money, and buy food for her daughter."

Cyne smiled softly. "Because no one would give him a chance," Cyne said simply. Terra listened to Cyne utter these words, and fell quiet for a moment in deep thought. Cyne watched as the gears inside Terra's head spun and spun, seemingly finding some traction. When Cyne felt that Terra had enough time to think for herself, he spoke once again.

"Would you give the father that chance?" Cyne asked. Terra looked at Cyne, then nodded.

"Then will you give other people a chance?" Cyne ventured, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice, "Give them a chance to understand you?"

Terra thought for a moment, and Cyne could sense reluctance from the child in his arms; obviously, she was thinking about the flying rocks that had struck her from before. But, after what seemed to be like several eternities, Terra nodded slowly.

"Promise?" Cyne winked playfully, smiling.

Terra smiled weakly back as she held out a pinkie. "Promise," she replied.

Cyne, however, stared bewilderedly at the pinkie, not quite understanding the gesture. Terra seemed to pick up his confusion, and hastened to explain. "Here," she said as she grabbed Cyne's arm and pulled out his own pinkie before hooking it to hers, "We go like this..." and, as serious as a noble signing a treaty between two nations, she said evenly, "...It means we make a promise."

Cyne smiled foolishly, seemingly amused by this rather foolish gesture as he stared at Terra, wondering what his teammates back at Imperial Intelligence would say if he were caught doing this with a little girl.

_They'd understand_, Cyne thought to himself absentmindedly; somehow, he felt as if he had just jumped over one of life's greatest hurdles, and he was not about to allow thoughts like that disrupt the savoring of victory over destiny.

"Okay, then," Cyne nodded as he grinned, matching the smile that formed on Terra's face moments later, "Promise."

* * *

Cyne took in a breath, let it out as he tugged at the collar of his black uniform of an intelligence officer. Already, the elevator ride into the underground levels of the Imperial Palace had gone into its thirtieth second, and Cyne wasn't sure he wanted to know what was down there. Rumors or two always managed to make it from the Empire's vault of secrets here underground, home to MagiTek and other contraptions the engineers design for the Empire, rumors that often were not appreciated. If half the rumors were true, Cyne knew that he would have to watch his step around here, unless he wished to be the next test specimen for an experimental biological weapon. 

Cyne felt extremely vulnerable here, half a mile underground, and the cramped space of an elevator seemed to be closing on him. Cyne closed his eyes involuntarily and muttered a silent curse.

The elevator slowed, made a pleasant _ding_ sound, and the double doors to the elevator. With a sigh, and some difficulty, Cyne stepped out of the elevator.

The interior of the greatest labs of the world, located underground in Vector, home to some of the most brilliant scientific minds in history, was not actually very different from the industrial surface world of the capital city. Metal illustrated practically every detail in the lab, and everything was in harsh, hard angles that jutted here and there, creating a labyrinth of gray and brown. While Cyne appreciated efficiency, he sometimes wondered why his empire never bothered to make their workplace a more pleasant place to work in.

Cyne sighed. He was wasting time, and he had no intention of missing an appointment that was scheduled by his superiors. He walked into the halls of the labratories.

The hallway itself was nothing impressive. It had been designed for the sake of simplicity and utility rather than for the workers to derive any sort of comfort from their working environment. The floors, walls, and tiles were plastered by metallic tiles that drew squares as far as Cyne could see. The industrial lighting from the roof, however, was sufficiently bright enough for Cyne to see everything in the entire facility, which really wasn't much for scenery, anyways. With doors on either side, Cyne paid special attention to the numbers on each one. Apparently, the number itself was important, as Cyne was not allowed to write it on paper, but to commit it to memory. This was sign that the said scientist was probably working on some high-profile project...and that was the last thing Cyne wanted. More secrets to guard. Cyne had a sneaking suspicion that Wolfang was laughing at Cyne's transfer; more often than not, intelligence officers were prime suspects when there were information leaks.

Cyne found his number, stopped before the door. To Cyne, the door seemed the same as any other door, unadorned, plain, metallic, built in the same fashion everything else in the Empire was built. There was nothing special about this one, but Cyne hesitated as his hand hovered right next to the metal, wondering whether or not he should knock, as if the door was suddenly trying to suck Cyne in, and Cyne was struggling to escape its grasp. Already, Cyne did not look forward to what was beyond that door. When intelligence officers were given the briefest of briefings, they knew to expect the worse, because intelligence officers were never left out of the dark, unless it was something way beyond their heads. Cyne had a feeling this was one of those times.

In quick succession, Cyne knuckles rapped on the metal three times.

"Oh!" a voice from inside came through the metallic door, "Please come in, the door's unlocked."

Cyne stress-analyzed the voice; the owner of it seemed to be in his early thirties, precise, apt, befitting that of a scientist. _They all have that particular accent_, Cyne told himself. With a intake of breath, he held it there for a second, steeled himself, and walked through the door. _Let's get this over with._

The office of what was undoubtedly one of the most important scientists of the Empire did not seem like what Cyne had envisioned in spare moments in the past. While Cyne was not expecting a lush office complete with woodworks and maple leaf, Cyne assumed the entire place to be sterile, filled with scientific equipment, neat, orderly. He did not find any of these. The entire place was littered with paperwork, personal trinkets, books, and pictures. The walls were in the same manner as the hallway outside, metallic, hard, and cold, but the floor had been remodeled to furnish a thick red carpet that seemed quite clean. Industrial-power lights shone down from the roof, giving the place a powerful glow. There were several graphs hastily taped to the wall, graphs that Cyne could not read and did not care to understand, and a record player sat in the corner of the metallic room. There were also what seemed like children's toys all over the place along with documents, some stamped with the words "TOP SECRET"; Cyne was careful not to step onto any of them as he made his way to the desk of Doctor Cid Chere, trying to find any source to delay him for a while, a pictures of scientists, high-ranking officials, any many other pictures of a little girl.

Cyne saluted as best as he could, killing an urge to swallow in front of a _civilian_...albeit a civilian that outranked him. "Lieutenant Cyne Sutherstrom reporting in, sir," Cyne snapped to attention.

Doctor Cid Chere looked up from where he was seated behind his desk, a fountain pen in his hand as he seemed to be completing a very complicated document on his desk. Cyne noted that what struck him most was that the doctor seemed to be wearing a yellow coat. He had thought that most scientists wore white, until he remembered that yellow coats meant the particular person also had administrative powers over the industry of the Empire. The fact that he was standing before a powerful scientist did nothing to lessen his unease. He had brown hair that flowed back from his scalp, a bushy mustache, and seemed to harbor well-fed features.

"Ah, Lieutenant Sutherstrom," Cid smiled, surprisingly effusive, as he stood up from where he was sitting, "I was looking forward to this meeting. Yes, I hope you are well?" He extended his hand for a handshake.

"Yes, sir," Cyne nodded slowly as he awkwardly dropped the salute, looked at Doctor Cid's hand for just a moment, then shook it hesitantly, "Thank you, sir."

Cid waved a dismissive hand at Cyne as soon as Cyne released it as he rounded the desk and motioned for Cyne to follow. "No need for formalities," Cid replied, "I don't like standing on ceremony, and quite honestly, I don't care. I apologize, but we're going to have to go back up to the surface again..." Cid smiled kindy, "...Our young Celes Chere has decided that she was going to go play with the children today."

Cyne found himself rather confused as he followed Cid out of his office, casting a look back into the lab. Somehow, for the last three minutes, nothing seemed to be going the way it should be. As the two stepped into the hallway and began heading for the elevators, Cyne spoke again. "With all due, respect, sir..." he started.

"Please," Cid insisted as he laughed, "_Cid_ will do. I don't like officers calling me with formalities all day."

Cyne swallowed, and, with great difficult, tried saying Cid. It didn't come out right, though; it was probably the atmosphere in which he was under. True, Cid did not seem like the serious, demanding type Cyne had assumed he was when he had walked out of briefing, but the fact that he was walking in forbidden territory under the Imperial Palace, and the fact that he was now accompanying one of the most important figures in the Empire, did not help much with any form of relaxation. Cyne came up with a compromise. "Yes..." he nodded slowly, "Yes...Mister Chere."

Cid laughed again at Cyne, casting an amused glance at Cyne as he pressed a button to call an elevator, and the metallic double doors slid open silently for them to walk in. "Military type, eh?" Cid grinned as he walked in, followed by Cyne, "Very well, if you must address me by a title, I suppose _Doctor Cid_ will do. That fine with you?"

"Absolutely, sir," Cyne replied, then hastened to correct himself, "I mean, doctor. As I said, Doctor Cid, with all due respect, I do not quite understand the circumstances of this appointment."

Cid raised an eyebrow as the double doors of the elevator closed, sealing the two in the metallic cube, and their vessel began a forty-second ascent to the surface above. "What don't you understand about it?" Cid asked curiously.

"Well," Cyne pursed his lips, "I was given a very scarce briefing, doctor. I was not informed as to why I was meeting you, nor the justifications of it. I was merely given orders to meet with you there. Doctor."

Cid smiled a bit, crossed his arms as he looked at Cyne straight in the eye. "Military-type indeed," Cid grinned, then sighed, "Very well, then. It really isn't much of a secret, so I do not see why your superiors are making such a fuss about it. I arranged this appointment."

Cyne blinked. "You did, doctor?" Cid asked, "I was under the impression that these were orders from above."

"Oh, no," Cid laughed, "I merely needed to get a hold of a busy officer like you. I thought an appointment might make things seems a bit more official, although I'm not sure I would like that. But there are rules to be played in such a game, although I've broken one or two myself." Cid winked, and, at that, the elevator slowed to a stop, a _ding_ sound resonated through the elevator, and the doors opened to reveal the interior of the Imperial Palace. Cyne felt a bit more comfortable here; there was a lot more open space and the sky to look forward to. Still, though, it did nothing to dispel his confusion. The two stepped back out into the halls of the Imperial Palace, still surrounded by gray-and-brown metal around them. The corridors themselves were spacious enough, and Cyne and Cid moved to the right side of the hallway as a squad of soldiers marched past in double-file.

"I'm honored," Cyne said, following Cid closely, not sure if he felt the same way, "But I still don't understand why I am the one here."

"Oh, it should be obvious," Cid shrugged as he turned Cyne through a door leading towards the palace walls, "You are the guardian of Terra Branford, after all."

Cyne nearly missed a step as he heard the words. True, such a thing was not a secret. After all, everyone in Vector knew Terra was special, if only because she could burn people with her mind. But, most importantly, why would someone attempt to arrange a meeting with him just for the sake of him being the guardian of Terra?

_That question was so obvious you shouldn't have asked, Cyne_, Cyne thought to himself, and steeled himself for the worst.

The door opened in front of them, and the two walked out into the sunshine as they exited through a side door. A patrol came by, saluted Cyne as they passed. Cyne did them the favor of saluting back as he and Cid continued walking towards the door in the side castle wall. While Vector did not have much for gardens, the space between the walls and the palace itself seemed to harbor forms of architecture that depicted ancient machines and modern technology, a testament to development of the Empire.

"I had wanted to see you before," Cid admitted, "Circumstances be damned, though; I never got the chance. So I jumped when I saw it, pretty good, eh?"

"Yes, Doctor," Cyne replied, again, not sure if he meant it or not. Cid merely smiled as they reached the door on the side palace wall, and pushed it open.

To the east of the Imperial Palace was the Imperial Residential District, a quarter-mile square of land that was occupied by rows and rows of high-grade housing, given to high-ranking officers and other nobles of the Empire. Like the rest of Vector, they were built with only practicality in mind, each building constructed with some metallic alloy and built almost like a cube, but as Cyne and Cid walked down the road, paved evenly with brown bricks, Cyne could see that the houses themselves seemed to carry a bundle of technology. There was electric lighting surrounding the houses, and the doors themselves carried an electronic lock instead of a normal key lock. The buildings themselves seemed like small manors, each about three stories tall. Cyne also knew that each building was designed like a fort; even with the new MagiTek armor that was being rolled out of the Imperial Palace several months ago, it would take several of them to level the place. Some trees lined the streets, seemingly the only cosmetic comfort that could be derived from Vector. Guards were also staked at almost every block for patrols, but it seemed that it was a rather boring job; no one was stupid enough to try and cause trouble in the Imperial Residental District. Somehow, Cyne did not have any doubt that Cid had a house somewhere in this district.

"So, tell me about yourself," Cid smiled, looking at Cyne as the two of them walked towards god-knows-where, "I'm dying to know how a young man like you came about to be a lieutenant in Imperial Intelligence."

Cyne pursed his lips; he guessed it was a pleasant subject to talk about on their way, and he probably didn't know what else to bring up. "Well," Cyne replied, "I was drafted into the military at the age of sixteen. The Empire needed fighting men for their campaign around the rest of the continent, and I became one of them. Like many others, we became known as the _infans militis_."

"Excuse me?" Cid frowned, not recognizing the term, "_Infans_...?"

"_Infans militis_," Cyne repeated, "It means 'children soldiers'. Most soldiers around my age were drafted or volunteered for the corps at a young age. I have a friend in the IAF, Wolfang Swift, who also falls in this category, although he volunteered. We're recognized by the green bar we wear on our chest for sacrificing our youth to the Empire."

"Ah," Cid nodded, seemingly finding this interesting, "Do go on."

"I was supposed to be stationed for the general campaign against Chiron," Cyne continued, groping deep in his mind for memories that he thought he had long forgotten, "As you know, remnants of the Kuboc Republic had fallen back to Chiron, and the Empire wanted to capture the key members of the resistance. I failed the physical test, though, and I was first placed as private in a supply company. However, I was later recruited by Colonel Jeremiah Vickers, who was trying to pull together a surgical hit squad to root out and eliminate high ranking officers within our own ranks. There were many high-ranking officers with connections to boot, and trying to arrest them would be a political pain in the ass; not only would we not receive authorization, but they would be freed by their connections even if we arrested them. Colonel Vickers wanted to train a group of fresh soldiers, recruited from people he chose among the _infans militis_, and form them together as a hit squad."

"Sorry," Cid interrupted, "But by 'hit squad', you mean..."

"We assassinated our targets, sir," Cyne replied with absolutely no emotion laced in his voice, "We needed a permanent solution, and, hopefully, their deaths would discourage others from attempting to leak out information to the resistance. I was in charge of intelligence, and it was my job to scout out the area prior to a mission, coming up with possible plans, and keeping my team in-the-know about everything that could and would show up in the mission."

Cid smiled tightly; while he would've found these credentials impressive, he wasn't sure if it was appropriate to praise someone who obviously worked with assassins before.

"After a year, though," Cyne continued, his eyes unfocused, "We experienced nearly ninety-percent casualties. Twelve of our numbers had died, five too wounded to continue active duty. There were only three of us from the original squad that had survived without major injuries. Thus, Colonel Vickers disbanded the squad a year ago, promoted me to lieutenant, and sent me off to Imperial Intelligence after I chose to take the job."

"Do you like it there?" Cid inquired, his eyebrows raised. They were fast approaching a small park in front of them, with several benches, a playground, a sandbox, and several trees around it. Cyne could only imagine that it was built to please the young children of the residents here. Already, he could hear the delighted squeals of children far away.

Cyne thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "It's a nice job," he said, "I know that a lot of my comrades are having a worse time with frontline infantry. It's strictly a desk job, but regulations in there are tighter than hell. But the pay is good, I work in considerable comfort, and I see my family often. My father has owned a fabric shop ever since I was born, and I can send him money for expenses that his shop can't cover."

Cid smiled. "It's good that you are in such close contact with your family," Cid agreed as the two walked into the small park, "Many others are not as fortunate. And now, here we are..."

Now that they were back to the subject at present, Cyne realized he had no idea why Cid had brought him to a playground in the middle of the Imperial Residential District. He looked around slowly, almost as if he would pick up anything conspicuous, but the only things around him that were sentient, other than Doctor Cid, were children, many of them no older than Terra. Laughing as they ran around and played their games, the children bounced up and down, an animated scene that Cyne had not seen in a long time. A slow, involuntary smile crept onto his lips.

There were eight children running around, chasing each other around the playground, seemingly involved in a game of tag. While Cyne could've simply ignored them, Cyne silently noticed one of the girls who stood at the very top of the playground, watching the whole affair with ever-alert eyes, as if she were the chaperon of all the children. While she was not the oldest, the six-year-old girl carried herself in great authority and composure, her expression serious and proud. With long hair with slight curls, and icy blue eyes, her mannerisms seemed as cold as the color of her eyes. Adorned in simple brown clothing, only slightly taller than Terra, she seemed to almost be of the common folk, but there was nothing common about the way she held herself. She was not the tallest figure in the crowd, nor was she the oldest, but she definitely seemed much more mature and majestic than the rest of the children. The way she watched the entire scenario, however, struck Cyne as interesting. She seemed to continuously scope out the area as her eyes made several movements in a Z-pattern, upper-left, upper-right, lower-left, lower-right. Cyne marked that out as he thought about that.

"My niece, Celes Chere," Cid smiled, obviously noticing that Cyne was looking at the young girl.

"You mean the girl with the long blond hair?" Cyne asked, surprised that Cid knew which child he was looking at.

"Oh, yes," Cid laughed, and his voice indicated that he was quite honored and proud to be acquainted with such a child, "She's always the one the grown-ups notice first, if only because of the way she holds herself."

Cyne nodded in agreement. "She does seem like a..." Cyne paused for just a fraction of a second as he considered using the word "soldier", but decided against it as he finished, "...noble."

Cid smiled kindly. "I'm glad you agree." A young boy, undoubtedly "it", ran up towards the playground platforms, and the children who were on top wildly dispersed. However, Celes calmly watched as the boy approached her, studying his every move. The boy scrambled across the platforms, running towards Celes, and reached out to tag her. At the very last second, though, Celes saw that the boy's foot was angled left, meaning he would have more leverage to the right than the left. Celes jumped sideways, towards _her_ right, as she quickly avoided the hand of the boy, before taking a very graceful jump off the platform, landing on the ground softly after a five-foot jump...backwards.

Cyne blew a low whistle. "She's quite acrobatic," Cyne admitted. Cyne noted Cid's smile, but, inwardly, he was more impressed with something else than Celes' acrobatics. Celes had watched her pursuer carefully before making a very calculated move meant for maximum efficiency; Cyne could not imagine a six-year-old girl exhibiting that sort of patience, courage, and, mostly, skill.

_There is much more to this Celes girl than what is known_, Cyne thought to himself quietly.

He was brought back to the present, however, as he realized that, as the boy had reached out for Celes, he also lost balance at the very last moment. Cyne noticed this one second too late and quickly jumped forward as the boy made a scream and began falling off the platform from where he had once stood. As he made a messy descent, his foot hooked onto two of the metal bars that held the platforms upright; there was a sickening crack as the weight of the boy, combined with the condition of his foot, screamed blue murder at his broken leg. He dangled there for just a moment before swinging into a position in which his inertia was redirected, and he fell onto the sand. The children quickly gathered around his limp and crying form and Cyne moved forward, prepared to submit medical aid.

"Everybody move back."

The three simple words were uttered in such a commanding and regal tone that Cyne found impossible to resist as he stopped right in his tracks. His eyes widened in surprised as he saw the owner of the voice as none other than Celes, who had knelt down beside the boy, her expression very calm, unlike the scared, anxious, and terrified expressions of the children around her. Cyne looked on as Celes knelt beside the boy.

"Manuel," Celes said very calmly and practically, "We need to get you to a hospital. Come on, let's move." She slung her arm around the boy's and prepared to lift him, but the boy only screamed ever more harder as he was reduced to pinful sobs.

"No, no, _no_!" he sobbed as he pushed Celes away, the pain in his foot killing him, his hands reaching weakly for his ankle, "No, stop it! It hurts, oh, it _hurts_!"

Cyne was about to go over and simply pick him up where he could carry him to the hospital, but before he could do that, a scene unfolded before him that Cyne found all-too-familiar...except that he did not expect to see it come out from anyone else but Terra.

Celes began to glow fainly, a soft, blue aura appearing around her body, before she settled one finger calmly on the boy's ankle. As she did so, his skin slowly became pale, just as ice crystals suddenly crystalized around his leg, freezing it. Crackling sounds were heard as the ice solidified out of nowhere, directed by Celes' pale finger, and finally stopped as Celes' lifted her finger from the boy's knee, deciding that it was enough. In the very back of Cyne's head, he could only barely register that Celes had been intelligent enough to realize that she had froze the boy's leg to make it numb, killing the pain so that she could move him. Somehow, the children around them, although fascinated, did not seem surprised or scared; they obviously had seen it before.

"Come on," Celes said with a grunt as she lifted the boy up by draping his arm over her shoulder, "Sam, help me." Another boy quickly converged on Manuel's other side, and the two of them quickly hauled Manuel towards a hospital, Cyne could only assume. However, he was far too submerged in a state of shock to fully comprehend this, and almost missed the motion of Cid suddenly waving towards him in the motion of asking Cyne to follow him as Cid walked towards the children, trailing them. Cyne hesitated for a moment, then, with difficulty, forced his legs to move and stepped alongside Cid.

"How...?" Cyne began, but deep inside, he had already figured out the answer. The final pieces of the jigsaw puzzle had been fit in place, and Cyne saw the big picture.

"MagiTek," Cid answered, smiling a bit, "Celes has been infused with MagiTek technology three years ago, when she was only three..." Cid frowned a bit as he turned away slightly, "...she was lucky. There were fifteen other children who were in the experiment. Celes was the only one who survived. It was intentional. The cells in which the MagiTek was infused grew by multiples of two, but they would be fully potent by the fifth phase. The best possible result for a MagiTek knight was to have fifteen other children infused with MagiTek, then have them forcibly extracted in phase five..." Cid sighed, "...There was absolutely no possible way that they would've survived the process. She was the most compatible, so she was the only one the Empire allowed to let live."

Cyne nodded ever so slowly. He understood the implications of such an experiment; a human infused with the power of magic would, no doubt, be a deadly weapon on the battlefield. Although he knew it was cruel of him to think of Celes as a weapon, somehow, he harbored no doubt in his mind that the Empire saw nothing inside her other than her value as a tool for destruction. "Have you told her about it?" Cyne asked off-handedly.

"Of course I have," Cid nodded sadly, regret not the only emotion that showed in his eyes, "I couldn't lie to her. Even if the truth is that she was a killer at the age of three..." he forced a smile onto his lips, as if there was something to look forward to, "...but she seems to be taking it well."

"She's been given military training," Cyne agreed, remembering Celes' mannerisms, "She must've learned mental techniques to protect her from shock and despair. She would be trained to turn any disadvantage into an advantage, to turn any weakness into a strength. I expected as much. The way she acted, watching the game of tag in a Z-pattern that scouts are trained to function, the way she was able to predict her pursuer's moves..."

"Celes will one day be a leader in his Imperial Majesty's armed forces," Cid said with a bit of finality in his voice.

"That explains things," Cyne muttered softly.

"Enough of this," Cid said suddenly, in a voice so pleasant that Cyne wondered for just a second if time had moved on without him, "Well, with you knowing Celes' secret now, I suppose you can figure out why I had wished to meet with you?"

"Well," Cyne crossed his arms, watching the convoy of children ahead struggle across the street, and wondering why he and Cid did not go forward and help them, "I do suppose I understand why you revealed the secret to _me_, although I'm uncertain why you revealed it at all. But, no, I'm not certain why you wanted to do so."

Cid laughed and looked Cyne over, stroking his mustache. "You're an intelligent young man," Cid noted as he stared at Cyne, "Just a bit slow on the social side."

Cyne didn't know how to respond to that. All he did was keep walking, and hoped that Cid would simply just tell him. He tried to keep a poker face to prevent him from seeming rude, but a crimson streak flushed across his face.

"If you do not mind," Cid said, "I would like to meet Terra."

For a reason that Cyne could not explain, he suddenly felt very defensive. "Why?" Cyne asked almost immediately, a bit sharper than what he had expected to come out of his mouth, and added, as an afterthought, "...Doctor."

Cid laughed, obviously noting Cyne's edginess, but not saying anything about it. "Cyne," Cid replied simply, "I'm a scientist, but, more importantly, I am also the sole guardian to a girl who is endowed with the ability to cast magic. I would like to see a girl who seems so similar to the one I treat as my daughter, if only out of curiosity's sake."

_Well, that makes sense_, Cyne thought quietly to himself, although he could not, for the life of him, find anything between Terra and Celes alike, other than the fact that both could cast magic. Their personalities were almost exact opposites, with clueless, innocent, and shy Terra compared to the strong, acute, and straightforward Celes. But he still hesitated.

Cid laughed, obviously noting Cyne's unease. "Oh, no worries, lieutenant," Cid smiled, "I'm not going to perform experiments on her. She's already endowed with magic, and I wouldn't wish to do anything to her."

Cyne considered for a moment. Cid didn't strike him as a fanatic scientist or a particular zealous man; in fact, he rather liked the scientist. Besides, the man had a point that Cyne found difficult to argue with, and considering that he had gone out his way to procure a meeting with Cyne...

"Alright," Cyne nodded in agreement, "I suppose it can be arranged."

Cid smiled happily. "I'll look forward to it," he beamed, "When shall we meet?"

"Well," Cyne thought for a moment, recalling his schedule, "Will Sunday do? I have work every other day, plus a meeting tomorrow, so..." he trailed off, leaving Cid to pick up his overtones.

"Of course," Cid agreed, "Sunday will be fine. I'll look forward to it."

* * *

Holding Terra's small, frail hand, Cyne took a deep breath as he stood before the door of Cid's house in the Imperial Residential District. Upon the appointed Sunday, Cyne found himself, as he had suspected, right in front of Cid's residence, nervous, with Terra looking up at Cyne, wondering what was making him sweat. 

"Are you okay, Cyne?" Terra asked softly, apparently concerned, watching Cyne stand there for thirty seconds in front of the door without doing anything. It was sunset, nearing mealtime, and Cid had suggested that the four join each other for dinner.

"Yeah," Cyne nodded with the best smile he could muster, which didn't amount to much, "It's just a bit hot. I feel like sweating."

Terra looked at Cyne dubiously; it was only seventy degrees Fahrenheit. "Oh..." Terra said innocently, a bit puzzled, but determined to work it out in her mind before she said anything, "...Okay."

"Yeah," Cyne nodded and smiled again, with a bit of difficulty, before raising his hand to the door. He paused for just a moment, just like the time he was right in front of Cid's lab underneath the Imperial Palace, and, finally, brought himself to rap on the door three times.

And he waited.

For Terra, the wait lasted only seven seconds. For Cyne, it felt like a lifetime, most of it spent awake. When the door opened, Cyne looked down in surprise; it was Celes who had opened the door, her face composed and serious like the ice she controlled. She looked up at Cyne, studied him, then down at Terra, and looked at her. Terra, in return, seemed to return a very curious glance, one that Celes didn't seem to return, or, at least, controlled to a good extent. Celes seemed to recognize Cyne, though; it was obvious she had seen him with her uncle a few days before.

"Good evening," Celes offered a greeting as she nodded, and, although polite, her voice sounded official and authoritative, "Please identify yourself and state your business here."

Cyne suppressed a smile at the girl who would one day become a soldier; her mannerisms were already formal and precise. With a mock salute, Cyne smiled, snapped to attention, and replied, "Lieutenant Cyne Sutherstrom, ma'am. I am here by request of Doctor Cid Chere."

Celes did not seem amused, apparently not glad that someone was taking her as a child and playing games with her. She looked at Cyne for a moment, as if studying him further, which made Cyne feel uneasy; he had a feeling that, if this kept up, he would soon be crystallized and frozen. Thankfully, Cid's voice from behind the door prevented that from happening.

"Ah, Cyne!" Cid said from inside, "Celes, please let them through; I invited them over for dinner tonight."

Celes turned around at the voice, casting her gaze on wherever Cid was inside, then nodded. She opened the door for the two to come in. Cid smiled again at Celes, a bit easily this time, and walked in with Terra.

The house in which Cid and Celes had been given seemed much larger from the outside. Again, though, the walls of the houses were built like a fort, the walls being slightly thicker than a foot. It could withstand a direct hit from grenades and punishment from armor-piercing bullets. Even the windows themselves seemed bulletproof. Cid and Celes lived in relative security. At the far end of the complex was a staircase; Cyne could tell from the outside that the house was three stories tall. In front of him was a living room, while the living room and kitchen were to the right through two other doors. The house seemed rather neat; apparently, either they cleaned the house a lot more often than Cyne ever did, or they simply did not spend as much time at home. The walls were a clean white, and the carpet on the ground beige.

"Evening," Cid greeted as his head poked out of the kitchen at the far end right next to the foot of the stairs with a smile, a spatula in his hand, "Glad to see you made it."

"Thank you," Cyne laughed a bit, and looked at Celes, still standing to the side, still and poised, almost as if she were acting as Cid's bodyguard._Knowing her situation_, Cyne thought to himself quietly, _she probably is._

"Ah!" Cid exclaimed as he walked out of the kitchen, putting his spatula on the kitchen counter beforehand, "And this must be Terra!"

"Yes," Cyne nodded as he urged Terra forward, who had been, for a moment, hiding behind Cyne's legs nervously, and knelt beside her as he placed his hands on her shoulders, "This is Terra Branford. Terra, this is Doctor Cid Chere, and this is his niece, Celes Chere."

Terra nodded nervously at Cid, but she gave a shy, friendly smile at Celes, whom she must've labeled as a friend, a girl her age. Celes seemed to attempt to a smile in return, but it seemed much more like a determined grimace. Cyne had difficulties trying not to chuckle, but he managed.

"Welcome, Terra," Cid smiled as he petted Terra on the head, where her dirty blond hair curled, "I've heard much about you from Cyne. You're lucky to have such a guardian."

Terra smiled shyly, not certain of what to say. "Thank you," she replied quietly.

"I've heard of your abilities to control fire as well," Cid said quite cheerfully, careful about his voice control to make it sound like he wasn't accusing Terra of something, although Terra stepped back involuntarily at mention of this. Celes also shot a genuinely surprised glance at Cid and Terra as her eyes widened slightly in curiosity.

"Oh, don't worry," Cid beamed, "it's a gift you have, not a curse..." he shook his fist vigorously, "...You should be proud! Proud that you have abilities others do not!"

Cyne wasn't sure if he agreed with this statement, but he forced a smile and relaxed his hold on Terra.

Cid noticed that Terra didn't seem entirely convinced either, and pointed at Celes, who stood beside them. "Celes can use magic too," Cid whispered in a coy voice, as if pretending to share a secret with Terra.

Terra's expression changed immediately from reluctance to gleeful curiosity. "Really?" she gasped, and then looked at Celes, who, in thinking she should try and be polite, merely nodded.

"She can control ice," Cid smiled and winked, "The same way you can control fire."

Terra looked at Celes with a shy smile that seemed like acceptance; it was natural, considering that it was the first time she had met a girl who was like her, a girl who had the same abilities she did.

"Now, Celes," Cid said to Celes, "You be good and play along with Terra for a moment, now, would you? Cyne and I have some things to talk about in the kitchen."

Celes frowned as she looked at Cid, and, for a second, Cyne was fearful that Celes may be rejecting Terra. "Uncle," Celes said flatly, "We were cooking."

"But we have guests over," Cid replied, raising his eyebrows, "You should keep them occupied."

Celes nodded, as if this made sense. "I know that," Celes replied, seemingly trying to suppress a sigh, "But it is ruder for us to present poor food to our guests."

Cid had to blush, and Cyne chuckled softly as the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle fell into piece. Apparently, Celes was the better cook among the two. Or, perhaps more accurately, she was the only good cook.

"I can help your uncle," Cyne assured Celes with a smile, "and makes sure he doesn't mess anything up." Cyne looked at Cid, who smiled in relief.

Celes seemed hesitant for a moment, but, after a moment, relented, and turned to Terra. "Allow me to show you around," Celes said in an official manner, and Terra giggled at Celes' serious voice, which seemed to exasperate Celes a bit as she led her up the stairs.

"You two play nice, now!" Cid shouted up the stairs as they disappeared to the second floor.

"She'll probably be a good role model for Terra," Cyne smiled, watching them disappear behind the corner.

Cid gave a wry smile in return. "And I'd prefer to have a girl of Terra's personality play with Celes," Cid admitted, "I guess we'll do some more talking with our children at dinner. You mind if you help me about here in the kitchen, though? Celes said it all, and..." he laughed awkwardly a bit, "...I'm not a very good cook. I hope you weren't lying when you said you know how to cook."

"I do," Cyne assured, and, two minutes later, he was down to cooking several pieces of meat in a pan over a stove while Cid sliced vegetables with considerable difficulty. He seemed embarrassed with Cyne helping him, though.

"Sorry," Cid muttered, "I invited you over for dinner, and I forgot that someone would have to..."

"It's fine," Cyne promptly cut into Cid's apology, "I guess I should practice, anyways, although I'm usually the one who cooks for Terra."

Cid chuckled softly. "Don't you have a job to tend to, lieutenant?" Cid asked wittily.

"I do," Cyne grinned, "So if I can make it on time, I ask the cooks to send something up to her while I'm gone. They don't complain much about it, and I pay them a tab, so...yeah."

"Well, as long as she's fed," Cid smiled, "She seems a bit on the short and frail side. She should eat more."

"She doesn't have that much of an appetite," Cyne admitted, "Or maybe it's because she's afraid of becoming fat."

Cid snorted, grunted as he cut through a particularly hard part of a carrot, and replied, "She's too young to think of that kind of thing. Unless it's peer pressure?"

Cyne pressed his lips. "She gets peer pressure otherwise," Cyne said slowly.

"Oh, yes," Cid nodded, apologetic, "Sorry. I should've figured."

"Does Celes get the same treatment?" Cyne asked, curious.

Cid laughed. "Not really," Cid explained as he dumped his poorly chopped carrots into a soup they were brewing, "She had friends before we performed experiments on her, so they know what she is. It may give her a bit of a difficult time when the children mature and understand what's going on, but she has friends. And as for those who met Celes after she was infused with MagiTek, well..." Cid smiled, "...she acts as a guardian among them, so they respect her, even if they may not like her."

"I wish it was the same with Terra," Cyne muttered with a twisted smile.

"Oh," Cid shook his head, "There are advantages and disadvantages to everything. There's probably a lot of love in your house, Terra being the way she is."

Cyne seemed surprised. "Doesn't Celes love you?" he asked, frowning, "As an uncle, of course."

"Of course she does," Cid laughed, "But she doesn't express it very well, if at all."

"Of course," Cyne nodded, understanding, and berated himself silently for not thinking of that before. He supposed Celes would be that way for a very long time, perhaps even for the rest of her life. For a moment, he felt a pang of pity for Cid and Celes.

Laughter echoed from the second floor, originating from the familiar voice of Terra, and, surprisingly, Celes. Cyne and Cid paused for just a moment as they quietly listened to their girlish giggles, and, with mutual acknowledgment, smiled silently to each other.

"She seems to get along quite well with Celes," Cyne said softly as he happily turned back to his cooking.

"And Terra's good nature seems to be contagious," Cid replied with a grin, "I haven't heard Celes laugh in a very long time."

"Must be difficult," Cyne commented, looking at Cid in a not-so-surprised manner.

"Oh, it is," Cid admitted and smiled, "It's good that Terra's bringing out the best in Celes."

"Maybe Celes could teach a few things to Terra," Cyne laughed.

Cid smiled back, and the two worked in silence for a minute, hoping to catch another sign of the two girls laughing. After a period of silence, Cyne had already finished cooking the meat and put them on a plate, and the soup seemed to be ready. Cyne decided to put the finishing touches before asking Cid to call the girls down for dinner.

"What are the Empire's plans for Terra?"

Cyne spun around at Cid's unexpected question, and caught himself from over-spinning by clamping a hand on the counter. Cyne frowned a bit. "I'm not sure what you're saying," Cyne offered as a reply, although he had a feeling he did.

"What does the Empire have in mind for Terra when she grows up?" Cid rephrased his sentence carefully, "You know that Celes will one day be a soldier. I was thinking what the Empire would do with Terra when she comes of age."

Cyne looked away quietly, his lips pressed together, becoming a bold, straight line across his face. "I..." Cyne started, stopped, then finished lamely, "...I don't know. They never told me."

"Well," Cid persisted, "you never wondered why they would give such a girl to you? To be cared by another, to have a life outside an Imperial lab?"

Cyne shrugged, lifting his arms in frustration. "I..." Cyne tried to laugh, but it sounded awkward, "I really don't know. They never told me; I was curious, of course, but..."

Whatever Cyne had wanted to say, however, they were cut off by a voice upstairs.

"_Uncle!_" was the only word that they suddenly heard from upstairs, and it was a shout, a shout from Celes, in a tone that had gone very wrong. It was obvious that she was still in control of herself, no panic or fear in her voice otherwise. But there was urgency and uncertainty in that voice, possibly even desperation, and the obvious need to get immediate attention. And they could hear Terra crying, and a sound sounded distinctly like...

_Fire_, Cyne thought, widened his eyes, and whispered, "Oh, no." Without warning, Cyne immediately sprang up the stairs, jumping across the steps by four, while Cid followed quickly; for his stature, he caught up with Cyne rather well. It wasn't of much surprise; they expected a crisis.

As the two bounded to the second floor, they immediately saw Celes, standing poised at the head of the stairs; her hand was glowing a pale blue and outstretched in Terra's direction, as if ready to call upon her powers of ice on Terra if need be. She seemed ready, prepared, and steeled herself against any reluctance to have to perform the necessary. Terra, however, was crying in the middle of the second floor hallway, and the startling thing was that she was on fire, burning a brilliant orange. She was just standing there, wailing as drops of water flowed down from her cheeks and disappeared in the heat. She did not seem at all disturbed by the flames and the heat, nor did she seem like she was being burned. But Cyne wasn't about to take any chances, and the carpet around her was already starting to turn black with small embers burning around her.

"Terra, _no!_" Cyne shouted as he lunged towards Terra. He chose a very bad time to do it; a tongue of flame lashed out from Terra and struck the right side of Cyne's face as he jumped like a crack of a whip. A dark, bold burn that seemed like a whiplash formed on Cyne's right temple, but he didn't notice that yet. Cyne registered the damage in the back of his head as he felt the pain, but that was nothing compared to what Cyne was focused on, the only thing that Cyne was focused on.

_Terra was crying. Terra was on fire._

Without warning, Cyne quickly grabbed onto Terra, quickly embracing her as he dropped to his knees. "Terra, Terra, calm down, _calm down!_" Cyne screamed, unaware that Cid was shouting for Cyne to back away from Terra several feet behind him, "I'm right here with you!" He was doing this, very aware that his own body seemed to be warming, getting hotter and hotter, and he felt the flames on him, he felt the fires on him that seemed to be swallowing him whole. For a second, the pain felt insane...

...And the fires disappeared. Cyne knelt there, breathless, wondering what had happened. Were the fires real? Cyne risked a peek at his hands and the other parts of his body. The fires were gone. There was no burns on his body. The heat and pain that he had felt were gone, except on the right side of his temple where he was first struck by fire. But he was fine. He had to repeat that sentence to himself shakily, forcibly pull those words out from a shaken mind.

_It's. Alright. I. Am. Fine._

Cyne slowly looked at Terra, who was now sobbing on his shoulder not-so-quietly, wailing, obviously as shaken as Cyne was. She did not seem hurt in the least, and Cyne could only imagine that she lost control of her emotions and her abilities. Pandemonium followed thereafter. It was not unpredictable.

Cyne sighed, and, with effort, held on to Terra all the more tightly.

* * *

"I'm sorry. She's a bit unstable. Emotionally. I should have told you beforehand." 

Sitting upright on a couch in Cid's living room ten minutes after Cyne had been burnt, Cyne made his misplaced apology to the doctor. Cid had ordered Celes back into her room, where she had disappeared without a fuss or a sound. Cid couldn't tell if she was angry or not, but the silence, for the moment, was welcome. Terra, however, was hiding in the first-floor bathroom; she had locked the door, and her sobs came at random intervals through the door. Cid sat right behind Cyne as he removed the ice pack from Cyne's head, and picked up a roll of bandages from the first-aid kit that he had placed on the table. The scar that Terra had burnt across Cyne's temple was not lethal, and seemed to only look like a dark, mean streak across his skin.

"Don't be sorry," Cid replied kindly as he started wrapping the bandages around Cyne's head, "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know. Girls can be like that sometimes. I think I'm the one to blame here."

"How so?" Cyne asked, holding his head absolutely still as the bandages were wrapped and tightened around his head. He winced just a bit as the bandage touched his wound on the first time, but afterwards, there was no such jolts.

"Just yesterday, I've read some notes of my predecessor, the man I succeeded as head of my research department," Cid explained, paused as he grabbed a needle from the first-aid kit and held onto it with two spare fingers, "There were notes that indicated there could be risks if one magic-user was brought to another, especially if they are not well-practiced in using it, or if they have emotional problems."

"Emotional..." Cyne muttered, and managed a chuckle, making sure to hold his head absolutely still, "...that would be Terra."

"Perhaps," Cid nodded quietly, was silent for a moment as he continued wrapping, and then concluded, after the period of silence, "In any case, I think we should listen to what your superiors are saying, keep the two apart for a while."

Cyne nodded slowly in agreement, making sure that his gesture didn't mess up Cid bandaging his wound. "Perhaps when they're older, and more in control of themselves."

"Yeah," Cid agreed, and made a final knot with the bandages before pinning it with a needle to prevent it from falling apart, and smiled in satisfaction at his work, "There. This should do the trick."

Cyne reached up towards where the burn was, wanting to rub it, but Cid slapped his hand away. "Don't touch it," Cid said sternly, "Let it stay like that for a week. You can unwrap it afterwards. I've already disinfected the thing and put some ointment on it, so there's no need for you to worry. Just don't touch it, don't sleep on the left side of your face, and keep it that way for a week. It's a very small burn; it'll probably disappear after a week or so, when you take the bandages off."

Cyne nodded, obeying the doctor's orders, but, somehow, he had a hunch that the scar was permanently there on his face. It was, indeed, a light burn, but it was a burn caused by magic, and Cyne somehow knew that the mark on his face would be evidence that he had once spent some times with a magic-using girl somewhere in his life.

"It's difficult," Cyne admitted quietly to Cid as he leaned forward in his seat and clasped his hands, paused, then added, "Working with her, I mean. Terra. She's very sensitive."

Cid smiled softly. "I find it a blessing," Cid replied and set a hand on Cyne's shoulder, "The girl whom I consider my daughter is condemned to be a soldier. She will have emotions stamped out of her, forever be subjected to the violence and cruelty of war. There will be many things that she will never experience, things that any father would wish for her to experience. But Terra is different; she is a myriad of emotions that I would pay with my life to see on Celes."

"They are different," Cyne laughed uneasily, resisting the urge to rub his wound, which was itching terribly.

"Just like their names," Cid nodded in agreement.

Cyne blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Celes and Terra," Cid explained with a grin, "Celes for 'celetsial', the stars and the sky. And Terra means earth, the very ground on which we live."

"Oh," Cyne nodded for a moment, seemingly surprised, then said awkwardly, "I didn't realize that."

Cid smiled calmly. "Many things seem to escape you," he whispered as he leaned back against the couch, "Especially the things that are important. We always miss it. We miss it, we lose it, and then we live to regret it."

Cyne looked at Cid out of the corner of his eyes; Cid looked almost melancholy, but Cyne still had no idea what he was talking about. He frowned, turned away, and nodded as if he understood. "Yeah," he muttered.

Silenced engulfed the room, and, every now and then, the two could hear a sob coming from the bathroom.

"You should check up on her soon," Cid suggested, pointing at the bathroom door.

"I will," Cyne assured him, "What about Celes? Will she be okay?"

Cid laughed a bit, softly, shortly. "She can take care of herself better than I can for her," Cid replied quietly, "It's part of her training, I suppose. If she realizes something is wrong, she'll tell me about it, though. I think she's okay. Don't know if she's mad at me, though, for ordering her to her room. I didn't even know what happened, but I wanted her to be safe."

"It's fine," Cyne replied, patting Cid on the shoulder, "It...was a good choice. You don't have to feel guilty or anything. It's not your fault."

"I hope not," Cid shrugged and grinned, "Otherwise, I'll feel guilty when Celes gives me the cold shoulder."

"I wasn't aware she could give you anything otherwise," Cyne grinned back, teasing Cid.

And the two men laughed, perhaps for themselves, but seemingly more so for the girls that they raised.

* * *

"I'm back!" was preceded only by rapid footfalls outside the front door before the door opened, and a fourteen-year-old Terra Branford quickly jumped into the room, quite out of breath. 

"Ah, welcome home," Cyne said from the living room, a response to Terra's greeting, which was customary, despite the fact that Terra always blurted out the same line when she came through the door every single time since middle school, even though most of the time, Cyne wasn't home. With a smile, Cyne waved back to Terra as he sat on one of the couches, looking down at a clutter of papers on the desk that showed confidential documents from Imperial Intelligence. Dressed in casual clothes, his intelligence officer uniform was hung across the back of a seat; apparently, Cyne had been too lazy to fold it up and hang it in his closet. He wore a pair of reading glasses that partially masked a scar from eight years ago, a scar Terra knew was inflicted by her. His hair was still as white and long as ever.

Terra cast a surprised glance at the living room, evidently surprised that the twenty-six-year-old Cyne was home this early. Terra offered Cyne a coy smile, teasing him slightly, luring him into a little game of words. "You're home early today, Major Cyne Sutherstrom," she said with a foolish mock salute. She dropped her bag of books next to the wall on the ground of the living room, which had moreorless been converted into Terra's bedroom, then walked over to the chair on which Cyne had laid his uniform, grabbed the uniform, and proceeded to Cyne's room, where she evidently was going to hang it in his closet.

Cyne laughed at Terra's gesture. "A privilege of being a major and the head of a head branch," he said coolly as his eyes returned the papers at hand, "How was your first day in high school?" He squinted his eyes just a little; the papers contained information of the latest military build-up by the kingdom of Doma, provided by an collaborator inside Doma's echelon of power. The reports were not optimistic, and Intelligence wanted to go over them with possible suggestions of a peaceful attempt at disarming Doma within a year. Cyne pursed his lips for a moment; it was the same scenario that happened two years before the Empire launched an attack on Chiron. Somehow, Cyne had a feeling that Doma would be wiped off the face of the planet in two years.

The affair of trying to find a high school where Terra could be enrolled had been just a bit of a problem, like the affair of trying to find a middle school for Terra. While she was under the care of the Empire, not everyone was comfortable with the prospect of having a girl who wielded magic around their school premises. Thankfully, Cyne had done a great job of working along with the propaganda department, and most mention that Terra could use magic had been dropped for the last eight years. Virtually everyone else had forgotten about it, not to mention forgot about her in general, and those who remembered were reminded that it was by order of the Empire.

Cyne and Cid, however, had been careful to make sure that she and Celes would never see each other, as they still felt the time wasn't right. Mercifully, the two had long forgotten about their first and only meeting eight years ago, but they didn't want to stay hopeful, and wanted to make sure. Thankfully, the Emperor decided that it was best for Celes to be incorporated into the armed forces, and, although only at the age of fourteen, Celes was spending the season with Imperial special forces for wilderness training in the Veldt, a stretch of prairies, jungles, and deserts very long way from Vector across the ocean to the north. Cyne felt a stab of pity for Celes, wondering what she had to put up with far away from home.

"It was..." Terra hesitated before continuing from inside Cyne's room, strains in her voice evident as she hung the clothes onto a rack that was almost too tall for her, "...okay. I mean, the people there were nice to me."

"No more throwing rocks, eh?" Cyne grinned as Terra came back out of Cyne's room.

Terra gave a shy smile in return as she leaned against the frame of Cyne's door. "Nope," she whispered softly.

"Well," Cyne said, flipping up another document on the table and studied it, "that's good to hear." Cyne took a peek just above his glasses at Terra, and, for a moment, swelled with pride at how Terra had grown. While still extremely shy and innocent, she had not burnt anyone after the incident where Terra had cast a scar on Cyne's right temple. She was much more in control now, and, although naïve, was a sweet, understanding, and compassionate teenage girl who cared for everything around her. She now enjoyed wearing red, with purple ribbons around her shoulders and waist. It seemed quite fitting of her, a girl of fire. The feminine curves of her body were also becoming more pronounced, a testament to her rise to maturity from a crying child to a cheerful teenage girl.

"Yep," Terra smiled sweetly, and added quickly, "Well, I just came home to drop my bag off; Chloe and the others wanted to meet me down at the square, because they want me to go windows shopping with them."

"Window shopping, eh?" Cyne raised his eyebrows in amusement as he looked at Terra with a wry grin, "Well, you watch your time out there, young lady. Be back before dinner."

"Before dinner?" Terra asked innocently, "You're forgetting that I have to cook the food. It'll take time."

"Nope, haven't forgotten," Cyne replied as he brought his mind back to the papers, "I'll cook tonight."

"Really?" Terra asked, seeming doubtful as she looked at the messy stack of papers on the table and suppressed the urge to walk over, clean it up, and see what was on the papers, "But I thought you had a report to work on..."

"That can come later," Cyne assured, "Food comes first. You go have fun, alright?"

"Thanks, Cyne," Terra made a little jump into the air as she squealed happily, "You're the best..." with that, she quickly jumped right next to Cyne, and, to his immense surprised, kissed him on the cheek just below the scar she had inflicted on him eight years ago, before quickly running towards the front door, and added hastily, "I love you!" With that, the door slammed, and Terra was gone.

"Bye," Cyne smiled softly as he whispered after Terra's fading footsteps. Cyne returned his gaze to his papers, but his mind drifted in his thoughts for a moment. Cyne, for just a moment, wondered what Terra saw more in Cyne, a father or a boyfriend.

_Don't be stupid_, Cyne shook his head furiously as he caught himself asking the question, feeling foolish and glad that Terra was not around to see the blush that crept onto his face, before forcing his mind back onto the papers at hand.

But somehow, just somehow, he could not push away a feeling of unease in the back of his mind, a lulling premonition...

* * *

The prophecies had once talked about the Tower of Babel in which one would ascend to the very top in order to be one with God and the heavens. These prophecies, so long ago, were the source, the catalyst, of so much death and destruction. Even here, in Vector, this place of technology, there was once much more activity, much more life. That was so long ago. Yet, from a time in which Tarkon could not see, he could tell that these prophecies would be fulfilled soon. 

Tarkon Elmdor sighed, a gesture of both great joy and great sorrow. There was joy because it was programmed into his mind after so much time of abiding by it, living for it, dying for it. He was no longer certain why he held it in such great deference, just knew it was a concept that held his mind and soul, a social programming that would live with him. And that was why there was also sorrow, because of the futility of it all. So much time of living for these dreams, dying for these dreams, and this was what it amounted up to, a futility under which he needed to see through if only so he could rest in peace.

And that was why there was, again, joy. Because he knew that, if it all worked out, he could bring it to an end.

Standing straight from where he was leaning against the castle walls of the Imperial Palace, Tarkon straightened to his full height, just shy of a five feet and a half. Wrapped around in a brown cloak which hid the rest of his body, his hood hid his pale skin and blond hair underneath as he studied the world with clear blue eyes, with features that seemed to belong to a fifteen-year-old. It was afternoon in Vector, and Tarkon was just standing right there, biding his time.

Waiting.

As if on cue, Tarkon's eyes lifted just as a single figure, dressed in red, appeared in the peripheral of his vision. Approaching him as she jogged along the foot of the castle walls, Tarkon watched as Terra moved ever so closer, her shy, petite features becoming clearer with every step.

_And this is the girl I need to come to an end_, Tarkon thought to himself.

"Good afternoon, Terra," Tarkon offered a weak smile from under his hood just as Terra stepped beside him.

Terra stopped right in front of Tarkon, seemingly puzzled as she recognized her name being called by a stranger. Naively, she bent down slightly to look under the hood, and her face brightened as she recognized the male. "Tarkon!" Terra beamed, "You're the one that sits behind me in class, right?"

Tarkon nodded, the soft, melancholy smile still on his lips. "That's right," Tarkon replied.

Terra smiled back as she blushed, seemingly surprised that anyone would remember her. "Cool," Terra said, "So everything's okay?"

"Moreorless, all things considered," Tarkon answered, his voice soft, "There are things I have to deal with, but they come in time."

"Okay," Terra nodded, polite and shy enough not to probe any deeper to this rather vague answer, "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I promised a few friends that I'd meet up with them. I'll talk to you tomorrow..."

"Can you feel it?"

Tarkon's sudden, abrupt words caused Terra to flinch for a moment; she had almost felt certain something was wrong. And something was. Tarkon did not utter the words in a soft voice. Quiet, yes, but they were strong words, punctuate by force in his throat.

"I..." Terra started, trying to smile despite her nervousness, "...I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"I think..." Tarkon whispered as he suddenly outstretched his hand and touched Terra's forehead before she could react, "...you need to be reminded of who you are."

Before Terra could reply, a sudden jolt flew through her mind. It was not pain, it was not shock, it was a sudden conduit of awareness and understanding that flowed through her mind, so much of it that Terra realized with astonishment and panic that she could suddenly _feel_ so much, strange feelings that were running through her, more than she could comprehend. It was logic, comprehension, but, more than anything, awareness and consciousness that suddenly bombarded her mind. Reality as she knew it was no longer important; the reality that was occupying her mind was much more pertinent as it assaulted her mind, caused her to panic in fear, bringing chaos to her consciousness as she could no longer quite feel the world as it was, but a world that was being brought to her through the forces that were seeping through her mind. No longer could she see Tarkon, nor could she see the castle walls or Vector for that matter; all she could see were strange images that seemed to guide her to absolutely nowhere.

She did not know that she had already ended up in the middle of the Imperial Palace, and was glowing slightly purple. The guards at the gates had let her through without question because she knew she was high-profile and the Emperor favored her. But now, as she neared the elevators that would bring her to the labs underneath the Imperial Palace, two guards suddenly noticed that something was wrong, if only because her walking was wobbly, she was whimpering as she clutched her head in absolute fear, and she was glowing a faint purple.

"Miss Branford?" one of the guards asked as they approached from the hallway, the two coming down from the other end, walking towards Terra to see what was going on, "Miss Branford, are you alright?"

Terra did not answer. Instead, she merely walked past them, and subconsciously pressed a button on the wall, calling the elevator. It dinged almost immediately, and the double doors to the elevators opened. Terra walked toward it, but the two guards quickly stepped right in front of her.

"Miss Branford!" one of the guards said, trying to dissuade her, "I'm sorry, but this is a restricted area. You cannot proceed..."

Terra did not know what was going on. She did not see, hear, or feel the guards near her in her state. All she knew was that she had to go somewhere, but something, a something that she only _felt_ without knowing what it was, was blocking her way from her and the destination that was calling her. The only thing she knew was that she needed to go somewhere, and that the obstacle needed to be removed with whatever power she had.

She did.

The two guards suddenly erupted into fire, their entire masses lit as white-hot flames consumed their bodies and burned everything to a charcoal, fried their brains and their throat. They did not have time to react or scream, because they had died instantly.

Terra ignored them because she didn't even know they were there. She just stepped into the elevator, and, on cue, the elevator closed its doors, traveled downwards. Naturally, she was not aware of it, her mind in shambles and chaos. Because as she traveled downwards, she could hear voices, feel emotions, screaming in her mind, attacking her with fury, sorrow, despair...Terra cowered before it all in a mental corner of her mind as they bombarded her.

Mercifully, after what felt like several eternities, it stopped. Like a record player that suddenly broke, the entire thing stopped abruptly, suddenly. Terra's world was suddenly silent and calm as she regained her wits in reality with a sudden shudder. It took her several seconds to react to this, realizing that she was, once again, sane and in control of herself. She blinked twice, to re-register her senses and to recognize what she was looking at.

What she looked at did not help her situation at all.

Rows and rows of large, glass test tubes stood before her, stretching out between metal walkways in a metallic room of what seemed to be a mix between a freak laboratory and a factory. Pumps connected to each tube, glowing with strange, radiant colors, full of energy. Each capsule had a number of meters and instruments on it, and Terra made no sense of it, not only because she could not understand it, but because her mind was on something else completely as her eyes widened in horror.

In each and every capsule were monsters, monsters that she had never seen before. They seemed so surreal to Terra; she had never seen them before in the wildlife, and something told her that they were intelligent, sentient beings. They were of different colors, different shapes, some seeing humanoid and bipedal, others seeming like freaks-of-nature. They were all trapped there, in those tubes, seeming asleep, held in suspended animation, as the tubes pumped something out of them, something that Terra could simply _feel _was energy...magic. But they seemed so bizarre, so unreal, that Terra was completely terrified, but what added to her Terra was that she could somehow recognize these being without knowing what they were.

_Terra._

The voice came from out of nowhere, spoken directly into her mind, something that Terra could not register with her comprehension at all for a moment. Then, somehow, just somehow, she understood.

But before she could reply, her mind was suddenly assaulted once again by voices, feelings, screams, emotions unprecedented from just seconds ago, a massive explosion in her brain. The entire thing was too difficult to bear as Terra subconsciously tried to scream for help, and a frightening, animal-like sound escaped from her lips as a wail.

Sensing a suddenly disturbance, metallic clamps from below the capsules suddenly grabbed and sealed each capsule before pulling them down quickly through many holes in the ground, each hole being sealed hereafter. Unknown to Terra, it was a failsafe to ensure that nothing happened to the test specimens, to prevent any possible sort of damage to them in case the security system detected a disturbance. Unknown to Terra, alarms were going off the hook hundreds of feet above her in the Imperial Palace as instruments detected a sudden peak of what seemed like magical energy.

But that was unknown to Terra. And she didn't care about that. In her mind, where she was suddenly abused and attacked by these unknown forces, she could only scream as she forcefully pushed everything out of her mind with whatever power she had.

Terra's world fell apart.

* * *

Cyne immediately knew something was wrong with Terra when the Imperial Palace shook on the very foundations of which it was built, and a pillar of fire suddenly appeared right at the heart of the Imperial Palace, appearing right outside the window of his officer's quarters. A hole was torn through the industrial pyramid of the Imperial Palace by the jet of fire, and, almost immediately afterwards, a purple streak tore out through the hole created by the burning pillar. 

Cyne knew it was Terra before anything else. It was mere instinct, a gut feeling, that had him suddenly rush out the door of his quarters, running at full speed in his casual clothes, with no explanation provided to a sergeant that he accidentally tackled and pushed over in his hurry out of his quarters. He did not associate it with a possible industrial freak accident, or even possibly a terrorist attack.

He _knew_ it was Terra.

Bursting through a door that led to one of the bridges that connected so many parts of the Imperial Palace together, Cyne paused for just a moment to register what had happened. The pillar of fire was no longer erupting from the hole, but he did suddenly realize that flames were dancing through the sky, as if some artist had painted fire on a landscape painting, and screams could be heard from all over the place. Fires burnt throughout many sections of the Palace, and Cyne immediately recognized that something with Terra had gone very, very wrong. He knew that Terra would lose control of her magic if something happened to her, but the fact that it was coming to this sort of magnitude was something to behold and to worry about.

Still standing on the bridge, a long, metallic plank with railings on either side, Cyne looked around wildly for any sign of Terra, but the fires obscured his view, and everything seemed so unclear. Cyne winced at the heat, blocked his eyes as a tongue of flames struck out from the skies and passed by dangerously close. Cyne hit the deck, dropping to the floor, waiting for the danger to pass, before he got right back onto his feet and started running again, running towards the other side of the palace. The part of the palace he had run out of was military headquarters; he was now running towards the administrative section, the center of the Palace, home of the Emperor, and positioned right above the Imperial labs.

_Please let someone be evacuating the Emperor_, Cyne thought inwardly with only a fraction of his mind. His true concern, despite knowing what security protocol applied, was Terra.

In the skies above, a squadron of sky armors, the powerhouse of the Imperial Air Force that looked like a sleek pod powered by two rotating propeller pods, had launched into the air by threes, standard Imperial flying formation, apparently trying to scout out the problem. They didn't last long; a flare shot out from the sky like a comet, passing right through the squad of six sky armors. They overheated, melted, and burned as the plummeted from the sky. Cyne watched them long enough to watch the six crash like meteors against the metallic walls of the Imperial Palace, creating burning, smoldering craters.

Reaching to the administrative area, Cyne broke through the crowd of this area's usual crowd of attendants, accountants, nobles, and pages as he ignored the decorations of this part of the Palace, an area that would have usually been forbidden grounds to a soldier such as himself. Cyne was beyond caring that right now, and if anyone wanted to bust him for looking for a girl that the Emperor declared was special, fine, let him bring it up to the Emperor. He only had one thing in mind.

"Terra!" Cyne screamed, looking around, "Has anybody seen Terra?"

Nothing, except pandemonium, responded.

Cyne continued to run past the marble halls, barely registering that the place seemed to have been hastily remodeled; although there was marble and other luxurious materials that crafted the palace, the home of the Emperor seemed to have industrial overtones that was as apparent as the other parts of the palace. Cyne turned a corner as he ran towards an exit, and, immediately, found a metallic staircase that seemed similar to a fire escape climbing right along the side of the wall. Ignoring the heat that was coming down on him, Cyne immediately bounded up the staircase by five steps; he hadn't thought he would be this panicked ever since he had taken Terra to Cid's house eight years ago, but it seemed that he stood corrected. He continued to ascend the steps, which seemingly took forever as he climbed at least ten stories, his boots clattering against the metallic staircase.

Finally, Cyne, almost completely exhausted, made it to the top of the staircase, bounded up right to the upper tiers of the Palace, the very roof of the Palace itself and the tallest part of the city of Vector.

He did not particularly welcome the sight he was greeted with.

The entire floor was aflame, as Cyne had certainly expected. Although there were no bodies around the roof, as it had not been occupied, Cyne saw something in the middle of the fires that completely took his breath away.

A pale, lithe figure stood completely nude in the middle of the roof. She was undoubtedly female; long, flowing hair came down from the back of her head, and it took a moment for Cyne to register the fact that it was not the fires casting light on her, but the girl herself was glowing purple. She simply stood there, completely calm about it all, as she tilted her head backwards, looking upwards towards a sky set ablaze. Cyne stared for just a moment as he realized that the girl was...

"...Terra," Cyne whispered, and, without hesitating or even thinking about the dangers of approaching a bizarre figure in the middle of the roof through the burning fires, ran towards her. He did not feel heat, he did not feel pain, he just ran towards Terra, blood pounding in his ears, and feeling mysteriously cold.

He ran.

The pale figure slowly turned in Cyne's direction, watching his approach. Her eyes seemed lost, half-open, as she settled them on Cyne. With the same deliberate slowness, she outstretched her right hand towards Cyne, and action that almost made him hesitate. "Burn," Terra whispered in a voice that sounded soft and gentle, but very different from her own.

A jet of flame came out from her fingertips and went directly for Cyne. Cyne immediately dropped to the ground, but even as he did so, with the fires raging above him, Cyne was still scrambling on all fours, moving fast in Terra's direction. The jet of fire passed above him, and Cyne was once again on his feet, running as fast as he could.

"No, Terra!" Cyne screamed, "It's me, Cyne! _Terra! It's me!_"

Terra obviously did not seem to hear. Only aware that the person running towards her was not yet dead, she dropped her right arm, raised her left. "Burn."

Another jet of flame came towards Cyne, almost like a furious dragon. Cyne had to jump to the side this time, and his jacket caught fire just as an ember flew past and skidded across the fabric. Cyne ripped it off in one deft motion with surprising strength, continued to run towards Terra. He was closing on her now, five feet, four feet, three feet...

"_Terra!_" was the only inhuman scream that left his lungs.

He lunged.

With absolutely no idea what to do, what to say, what to think, he let his inner self take over completely. And, like eight years ago, on the second floor of Cid's residence, he fell onto the girl that he knew, the girl that he watched over for so long, the girl that he loved, and embraced her.

Both of them on the floor, Cyne did not feel any heat, did not feel any pain. He saw himself on fire, but he wasn't being burnt black into ashes, and, instead, he felt warmth. He gambled a glance at Terra's face, Terra's delicate face, a face that was glowing purple and inhuman, but was slowly dimming and returning to her human form.

"Cyne?" Terra whispered, in a voice that sounded like a mix of both her own and not her own. Purple was disappearing from her skin, and her body was losing its glow.

Cyne's arms, wrapped around Terra so tightly, squeezed harder at the name. "Yes, Terra," Cyne whispered shakily, and, as Terra's stopped glowing and returned to her human self, naked in Cyne's arms, closed his eyes calmly, "It's me."

Terra nodded, smiled, buried her head into Cyne's shoulder as tears came down from her eyes, and lost consciousness.

* * *

It was half an hour after the entire episode of fire as Cyne sat on the roof of the Imperial Palace, utterly exhausted and alone. Around him were Imperial troops, doctors, and officials who scrambled all over the place, containing the aftermath of the cataclysm that had occurred in Vector. Although no casualty figure came in yet, Cyne knew that this was one page in the history of Vector that the people would not forget anytime soon. 

It was sunset in Vector, and the orange skies above seemed dangerous; although the fires were gone, the fact that the sky was the color of those burning embers did not help ease the minds of those who were conducting investigation and relief missions.

Most of the fires had already been put out, but a column of black smoke still rose to the sky.

Wrapped in a blanket a doctor had given him, Cyne sat there, completely still, as a doctor checked him over. A medical team had found Cyne and Terra, and quickly descended upon the two. Two doctors took Terra to a lab, insisting that they had orders from high above that she be examined with precision equipment; it seemed they were briefed about Terra's "special condition". Cyne wanted to go along with them, make sure Terra was alright, but the last doctor who remained asked Cyne to stay completely still, as he wanted to check Cyne for irregularities.

He had, after all, embraced the sole source of this disaster.

"You're fine," the doctor beside him whispered in an assuring voice as he rolled down Cyne's sleeve, from which he was checking his pulse, "You're not suffering from any wounds, from what I see. Most of it is shock; I want you to sit here for at least ten minutes, and when you get up, do it _slowly_. Small movements for the rest of the day, and some sleep, if you can catch any. You want the circulation to come back to you, that and the residue shock. I do not want you passing out suddenly. You may want to come down for a more extensive check-up later on. With a lot of critical injures all over the Palace, burns and all, I can't promise you much, but at least you'll have qualified personnel to look after you..." the doctor quickly flagged down a passing soldier carrying a canteen of water, which he immediately took from the soldier and passed to Cyne, "...Drink this."

"Understood," Cyne nodded, "Thank you." He then proceeded to empty the contents of the canteen, cold water, into his mouth. The doctor nodded, patted his back a bit, then disappeared into the crowd.

"Major Cyne Sutherstrom."

The voice behind him was uttered with complete authority and military command. On instinct, Cyne stood to receive what was undoubtedly a superior, but, as soon as he did so and turned around, his brain suddenly went woozy as he lost his sense of balance; the circulation, apparently, had not been doing well for his head. He nearly teetered in place, but the officer in front of Cyne quickly caught him and stabilized him, set him slowly down to the ground.

"Easy, now, soldier," the man replied as he put Cyne into a sitting position, "Just sit for now."

In his state, Cyne found the orders rather welcoming. "Yes, sir," Cyne nodded, dizzy. He looked up at the officer, saw that he was a colonel, wearing a brown uniform of frontline army. His features seemed gaunt and stern, and he was probably in his late-forties. Cyne couldn't discern much else; his vision was becoming blurred.

_That's why the doctor ordered me to stay put_, Cyne thought.

"Orders from the Emperor," the colonel said after he took out a piece of paper and read it, but kept an arm on Cyne's shoulder, telling him not to stand.

Cyne tried to seem at attention as much as possible in his state, although his eyes seemed out-of-focus. "Sir," he replied sharply.

"The girl Terra Branford will be taken into Imperial custody," the colonel read in a matter-of-factly voice, "She will be looked after by General Kefka Palazzo hereafter. The Emperor, in his Imperial benevolence, has deemed that you have done everything you can for the girl, and you will be rewarded for your loyalty. You are hereby promoted to Colonel for your outstanding services to the Empire. Do you understand the following orders?"

_No, I do not understand_, Cyne thought as he suddenly tried to breathe in a world gone airless. He could not comprehend. _They are taking Terra away from me! How could they do this?_

But, in front of the colonel, he could not say this. And he could understand where the orders were coming from. He understood it all.

In a voice that sounded utterly exhausted and defeated, he muttered, "Yes, sir. Thank you...sir."

The colonel nodded as he rolled up the piece of paper. "Take care now," the colonel replied before walking away.

Cyne sat there, completely devastated. His promotion to colonel did not matter. His pardon from all misdemeanors of not having prevented Terra from doing this did not matter. _They are taking Terra!_

Cyne looked around, and all he saw were faces of Terra, looking right back him, smiling in a way that only Terra could, a smile full of shyness, naivety, innocence, a smile that warmed Cyne's heart everytime. They were taking Terra, a girl that Cyne had taken care of for nearly half his life, a girl that he knew better than anyone else, her desires, her needs, her dreams. They were taking away a girl that he adored, he cared for, he_ loved_.

And, for just a very sudden moment in complete clarity and realization, Cyne knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Cyne cried, tears running down his cheek.

He had lost Terra.

* * *

The colonel from Imperial Intelligence had entered the briefing room at precisely 2100 hours, three minutes after Sergeants Biggs Darklighter and Wedge Antilles stepped into the briefing room. 

For the two sergeants, it had been a sudden order. Wedge, a tall, lanky Imperial troops, remembered it quite well. He and Biggs had been sitting in the mess hall for dinner along with two other troopers when their commanding officer suddenly came up to their table. After a salute, the captain told the two that they were to attend a briefing at 2100 hours conducted by Imperial Intelligence.

Wedge knew better than to second-guess or think about the implications of it. Frontline infantry had elevated the position of these intelligence officers to near-mythological status, and Wedge knew better than to question his orders. Other than nervousness, though, he felt slight disgust at the intelligence officers of the Empire. As his partner, Biggs, a slightly shorter and muscular man, had quietly said on their way to the briefing room, "Let's hope this intelligence nutcase didn't tell us to come over for a ceremony for scratching his ass."

"Officer on deck!" Wedge said as he stood to attention and saluted. Biggs immediately followed his example and snapped to.

"At ease," the officer, undoubtedly in his late-twenties or early-thirties, a major, by the insignia on his chest, replied as he stepped up to the podium. As Biggs and Wedge sat, they noticed that the man had long, white hair that reached down to his waist. Inwardly, they felt a pang of contempt. Only intelligence officers seemed to have the ability to consider themselves above the law in the military hierarchy; otherwise, this lieutenant's hair probably would've been non-regulation. A mean, dark scar streaked down from his right temple, adding some contour to his character. There was a green stripe across the chest of his uniform, and Wedge, who saw it, instantly knew that this man was an experienced veteran; the mark of an _infans militis_ showed that he had been with the armed forces ever since he was child.

The briefing room itself was essentially a square room, lit by electric lights, with completely white walls and a podium at the very front, which controlled a projector attached to the ceiling of the room. Chairs were placed in rows facing the podium, and the room could easily accommodate thirty-two soldiers who were needed to be briefed for their missions.

"Sergeant Wedge Antilles and Sergeant Biggs Darklighter," the officer nodded to each of them, acknowledging their presence, "I am Colonel Cyne Sutherstrom of Imperial Intelligence. I will be your commanding officer for this mission, which is being supervised directly by General Kefka Palazzo."

At the mention of General Kefka Palazzo, Biggs and Wedge sat straighter in their seats; General Kefka's ascension through the ranks of the Imperial army was the stuff of legend, and if a quarter of the rumors about him were true, then Kefka had committed atrocities in the name of the Empire from one end of the world to another. Both sergeants attempted to hide their unease as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"Both of you will participate in this mission, codenamed 'Operation: Deep Miner'," Cyne continued as he looked at both Biggs and Wedge, studying them as if making sure they would keep this under wraps, "Naturally, all the information in this briefing is deemed 'Top Secret', and will not leave this room. Inability to abide by this is a violation of military protocol, and is punishable by death."

Cyne clicked a button on the podium; they lights went out, and a projector shot a lightened image onto the blank wall in front of them. From what the picture showed, it seemed to be an aerial reconnaissance photo taken from a sky armor. It seemed as if the surrounding area was a tundra, with snow all over. There was a crack along the photo, a canyon, that ran through the middle of the screen. Cyne clicked another button, and the photo zoomed in towards the canyon. As it did, white dots became more visible in the canyon darkness, and it soon became apparent that there seemed to be a settlement inside the canyon.

"This is Narshe," Cyne said as he pointed to the photo being displayed on the wall, "Current population is unknown, as it has been out of the Empire's range of control, with the town declaring itself neutral. However, the allied kingdom of Figaro has provided a rough estimate of at least six thousand five hundred, although we have reason to believe that the census is wildly inaccurate and outdated, and that there may be a significant increase in population than the numbers provided to us. It is a mining town, with medium industry. Coal seems to be their primary source of income, and despite its situation, it is a profiting town with its own well-trained militia."

Cyne clicked a button on the podium once again; the image on the wall turned to that of a hastily drawn map, seemingly done by a field agent, with many notes on it. There were also much neater graphs drawn onto the messy sketch, seemingly helping to make some sense out of the diagram. "Nine days ago on October thirteenth," Cyne continued, "We received information from our field agents in Figaro that they had heard rumors in Narshe about a frozen Esper in the caves of Narshe. They were given orders to infiltrate Narshe and investigate. We have not heard from them since, and we have to assume the worst. In any case, however, we have great reason to believe that there is truly an Esper in the caves, and that Narshe is aware of its presence. Our intelligence has implied that it is not yet general knowledge in the town, but there have been rumors or two. Despite this, we shall assume that the city guard has been put on high alert."

Cyne stood straighter, looking at the two. "Standard military deployment to Narshe is impossible," Cyne explained, "We are hard-pressed for time, with obtaining the Esper being of utmost priority. An army will be too slow to mobilize, and, in a worst-case scenario, the people of Narshe will retreat to the caves to start guerrilla warfare with the Esper. Thus, General Kefka Palazzo has decided that a surgical strike team will be deployed to obtain the Esper."

"Question," Biggs said from his seat as he leaned forward, "I'm assuming that these Espers are supposed to be pretty big. If we're the only two going there, I don't see how we stand a chance to get in, grab the Esper, and get out."

Cyne nodded, appreciating the sergeant's intelligent remark. "You will be equipped with MagiTek armor for this mission," Cyne replied, "The general does not expect you to complete this mission without heavy equipment. However, the actual moving of the Esper will not be necessary..." Cyne paused for a moment, and he seemed to hesitate before saying, "...You will be accompanied by a trained specialist, who will help you deal with the Esper. Your mission is to simply escort the specialist to the Esper."

"Wait a second," Wedge intervened, his voice laced with disgust as he looked at Cyne incredulously, "You mean we're babysitting a vulnerable package in the hot zone?"

Cyne shot Wedge a glare that could've frozen any furnace under the Imperial Palace; Wedge involuntarily flinched in his seat as he edged back. "The specialist will also be riding in MagiTek armor," Cyne replied slowly in a testy voice, "and will be capable in handling all mission objectives that head your way."

Cyne clicked another button, and the image on the wall disappeared before the lights in the room came back up. Cyne crossed his arms as he spoke. "Your mission will be divided into seven phases. Phase one. At 0900 hours tomorrow morning, you will report to the hangar bay; there will be three MagiTek armors waiting for you and the specialist there. After you strap in, you will be transported to Narshe via sky armor. Our current intelligence indicates that the sky around Narshe is not clear, and you may miss your LZ by several miles. Phase two. The sky armors will drop all three of your MagiTek armor at or near your LZ. You will rendezvous at the RZ at 0100 hours, and then proceed towards Narshe. You should be able to reach the town at no later than 0200 hours. Phase three. The three of you will infiltrate Narshe and secure the mines in town. Resistance should be light, but be prepared. Phase four, you will make contact with the Esper, and the specialist will take care of things from there. Phase five, you will retreat from the mines as quickly as possible with whatever results you have. Due to the lack of information, we are unable to completely confirm as to what will happen when the specialist makes contact with the Esper, but you will make the best of your sitaution, and retreat from Narshe immediately. Phase six. Your team will report to the allied nation of Figaro, and await extraction from Imperial forces. Phase seven, you will be extracted from Figaro, and return safely to Vector. Note, however, that the extraction window ends at 1400 hours. If you are unable to make it to Figaro Castle by 1400 hours, you will make your way to South Figaro. We have an agent there posing as a ship captain, in command of the _Sunshine_. You will approach the captain and say 'Pity there is no snow in South Figaro'. If the captain replies 'Looks like you had a hard time in Narshe', you will be extracted by the _Sunshine_, and, upon return, report immediately to Vector."

Finishing his explanation, Cyne looked at the both sergeants as he crossed his arms behind his back. "Questions?" Cyne asked.

"What kind of resistance other than the local militia should we expect?" Biggs asked, sitting forward in his chair as he clasped his hands, "And what kind of power should we expect from the militia?"

"Your operation will be carried out in the middle of the night," Cyne answered, "Thus, we suspect that less than a quarter of the militia will be present. The militia themselves are well-organized, but they lack equipment. You should not have to worry about damage to your MagiTek armor, but the general advice is to advance quickly north to secure the mines. Inside the mines, you will probably do some fighting with the local wildlife. We also have sources inside the caves that tell of us a monster that stores lightning inside its shell, an effect possibly powered by the Esper inside the cave. However, as we do not have much details on that, we cannot confirm this possibility."

"Rules of engagement?" Wedge questioned.

"Return fire if attacked," Cyne replied, "This is an infiltration mission, although you will be expected to protect yourself in a worse-case scenario. In any case, we do not wish to give Narshe the impression that we are cruel warmongers."

Cyne looked at he two of them again. Seeing as to how they had no other questions, he nodded, and said, "You will both report to the hangar bay tomorrow morning. Because of the sensitivity of this mission, this has been labeled a covert-op. As per military protocol, you will not be given standard information pamphlets that details the operations; thus, you must commit every detail of this mission to your memory."

There was a knock on the door, and the door to the briefing room slid open. Both officers, Biggs and Wedge, turned towards the door, but they could not see who was standing there from their angle.

For Cyne, however, whose expression had turned hard, he could see quite clearly.

"Come in," Cyne said to whoever was at the door, and turned to Biggs and Wedge, "This will be the specialist who will accompany the two of you."

And, to the immense shock of Biggs and Wedge, who had helped out with relief operations to the "Day of Fire" four years ago in the Imperial Palace, they found themselves face-to-face with an eighteen-year-old Terra Branford.

In silence, Cyne walked up to the man who was escorting Terra, pretending not to recognize Terra or hold her in any regard; the gesture would've been deemed suspicious, and Terra would not notice. A metallic loop across her head, a slave crown, had been placed there by General Kefka Palazzo a month ago, when he had gotten impatient with Terra's naivety and fear, and decided for a more direction approaching, neglecting the recommendations from scientists and psychologists. For the last month, Terra had been rendered down to a mindless, soulless shell with the slave crown on her head, only knowing how to take orders and follow them. Her eyes, blank and soulless, was accompanied with a blank expression on her face. She had been robbed of all freedom.

So Cyne did his best to ignore her, even as his heart twisted in his chest. Instead, he walked right up to the man who had escorted Terra here, the man who had been appointed to take Terra to the briefing room, the man who would order a squadron of sky armors to drop the team of three off outside Narshe, and the man Cyne knew. He stopped right beside the green-uniformed colonel of the the IAF with sharp eyes and cropped blond hair, a green _infans militis_ stripe across the chest of his uniform, and said, in the most quiet and emotionless voice he could conjure, "Make sure the men you pick to send them to Narshe are the best men you can find. Do this favor for me, Wolfang; I will die if I hear that she died before ever doing anything."

The gaunt Wolfang nodded quietly, understanding and feeling Cyne's pain. "You'll have my word, buddy," Wolfang whispered back.

Cyne nodded, and, unable to stay there for another second, walked out the briefing room as fast as he could.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One  
****Drop Into The Darkness**

The landing, by all accounts, was not a smooth one.

"Amber-Leader to all units. Do we have any confirmation on a visual?"

It was just past midnight in Narshe, and Amber Squadron, the best that Colonel Wolfang Swift of the Imperial Air Force had to offer, had just began to realize why there were no prospective attacks on Narshe through air means. A fog had started to settle in, and the squadron of six sky armors, series of metallic pods sailing and bobbing across the night sky, three of them carrying the three MagiTek armor, three flying escort, was finding out the hard way how difficult it was to attempt to drop off their package with almost no visibility. Even with their overcoats on, it was unbearably cold as the winter winds slashed at their skins, and there were only two thoughts on the minds of each polite: Complete the mission, and go home immediately.

The thermometer on the sky armors was dropping low. Amber-Leader, like the rest of his squadron, knew that if it dropped too low, the fuel inside the sky armors would be frozen inside their tanks, and, without power, the sky armors would make a plummet for the ground. Amber-Leader, watching it drop slowly, figured that he could only linger around for five more minutes before he had to order the squadron back, unless he wanted to risk freezing his fuel.

"Negative, Amber-Leader," Amber-Two replied, his voice crackling through the radio.

"Negative," Amber-Three agreed.

Amber-Four, -Five, and -Six also had nothing. It meant that they were operating under almost complete invisible conditions. The fog around them wasn't lifting, and with only maps to compare with, Amber Squadron did not know their precise position, only that they were somewhere above Narshe.

Amber-Leader looked around from the cockpit of his sky armor, and barely saw his five wingmen through the fog, shadows of sky-armors behind a veil of gray. He, Amber-Two, and Amber-Three were the ones carrying the three MagiTek armor, attached to the sky armor by hardpoint. A series of metallic locks had linked the two together, and, in order to release the MagiTek armor from the sky armor, it would require two separate codes, one from the sky armor pilot and one from the MagiTek pilot. The two locks would then unlock, and the MagiTek armor would detach.

Amber-Leader knew that the MagiTek pilots were not having an easier time. The chilly, biting winds must've been getting to them for the past few minutes, especially in a cockpit that was not designed for air travel. Amber-Leader had to make a drop-off quick, but he knew better than to risk a random landing; he was not about to make a foolish decision to get the three troopers killed.

The radio did not relay any chatter that the three troopers in MagiTek armor may have been talking about; Amber Squadron operated on a different radio channel than the MagiTek armor did, and Amber-Leader would have to switch the frequency if he wanted to contact the MagiTek team. He suspected that he may have to do that in a few minutes; their window of descent was getting pretty small.

"Amber-Leader to Amber-Four, -Five, and -Six," Amber-Leader said through the radio, "Hope you can hear me, boys, because we're running short on time. I know you guys don't like this with possible jags in terrain, but I need you three to fly as low as possible until you have a visual of the surface. Give me an approximate altitude, and we'll conduct a fly-by to drop off our packages. That clear?"

Amber Squadron had been briefed earlier about the mission, and they knew that the maximum height that a MagiTek armor could handle through an airdrop was fifty feet. It was best if they did it from thirty. Although it was dangerous enough for sky armors, for Amber Squadron, it was pretty easy. None of them, however, had done it under near-zero visibility conditions before.

"Roger, Amber-Leader," the familiar voice of Amber-Four replied, hesitant, but confident, "We'll get it done."

The main concern of the three pilots was that the area around Narshe was a canyon. A canyon wall could easily show up in front of them through the fog without warning, resulting in a very violent crash and explosion against rocks. Amber Squadron would have to fly very low, looking for a near invisible ground, and pulling up after reporting at what altitude they were flying at. When the altitude was reported, the squadron would then attempt a fly-by, passing through the same area again with the altitude reported, and drop off the MagiTek armors at a safe height.

Amber-Four, -Five, and -Six quickly broke off from formation and disappeared into the thickness of the fog, their only contact with the others by radio. Amber-Leader then flipped a switch to have his radio jump to the frequency of the MagiTek armor team.

"Sergeant Antilles," Amber-Leader spoke into the radio, "I hope you can hear me alright down there."

"I'm freezing my ass off here, fly-boy," came the low growl of the infantryman from the other end of the line, obviously unable to remember he was ever warm in the seat of his MagiTek armor, "You guys find the LZ yet?"

"We're trying," Amber-Leader replied, "We have a window of five minutes before we need to take off out of here. The weather here alienates a perfect drop down on the LZ, but..." Amber-Leader deceased the drag of his wing rudders as a strong blast of turbulence suddenly struck the sky armor, shaking the craft like bullets in a tan can, before replying, "...we're going to try and find a nice, clear field for you guys to land in. I'll keep you posted; stand by." Amber-Leader switched back to his squadron's frequency before Sergeant Wedge Antilles could make a reply.

"Sir," Amber-Four's voice came through the radio just seconds later, "We're circling around what we think is a flat area around here. Altitude approximately one-two-two-zero, suspect it's at the top of the canyon. Relaying pathfinder signals now."

Pathfinder devices relayed a radio signal all Imperial aircraft in the area, as close as the Empire could come to a radar. The frequency and pitch of the beeps that came through the radio of the sky armor served to indicate the direction and distance from the intended target. Amber-Leader quickly flipped three switches for the radio to receive Amber-Four, -Five, and -Six's pathfinder signals. The radio began to make a high-pitched beeping, but came at slow intervals, meaning that Amber-Leader was right on track, although still a distance away from the area. Judging from the frequency, Amber-Leader took a guess that they were at least two miles away from the intended LZ. "Copy that, Amber-Four," Amber-Leader replied, "Keep circling our LZ; we're coming your way. Amber-Two and -Three, YAW left and right, make sure you've got bearing on our heading."

Amber-Two and -Three tilted their craft left and right a bit, listening for the pathfinder signals, trying to determine the approximate area of the LZ. Judging by the frequency of the beeping of each signal, the distance between them and the LZ, and the bearings they recorded, they could get a rough idea as to how large the drop zone was through quick mental math.

"Amber-Two reporting," Amber-Two said through the radio, "Approximate headings for LZ area are...approximately 162 and 190. Repeat, 162 and 190. What about your end, Amber-Three?"

Amber-Three hesitated; he had always had a little problem with quick mental math. "Yeah, yeah," Amber-Three replied at last, "162 and 190 sounds about right. That means the LZ is about a mile in diameter. Piece of cake."

"Don't celebrate yet, kids," Amber-Leader snapped in disapproval of Amber-Three relaxing due to what he considered was an easy objective, "We're about a mile and a half from the LZ. Amber-Four, -Five, and -Six, ascend altitude to one-six-zero-zero. No point in risking a collision. Turn off pathfinder signals and wait for further orders. Amber-Two and -Three, on my wing, altitude one-two-two-zero. Prepare to disengage MagiTek orders on further orders."

"Roger, Amber-Leader," Amber-Four replied, and although Amber-Leader could not see them, he knew that Amber-Four, -Five, and -Six were now ascending into the skies to prevent any mid-air collisions, "Ascending to one-six-zero-zero. Standing by."

"Descending to one-two-two-zero," Amber-Two replied as he formed up on Amber-Leader's left, close enough for Amber-Leader to make out the familiar shadow of a sky armor with a MagiTek armor hooked under it, "Preparing disengagement module. Package is ready to be dropped on Zulu, Amber-Leader."

"LZ inbound in sixty seconds on my mark," Amber-Leader said as he looked at his clock, waited a heartbeat, and said clearly, "Mark." Undoubtedly, Amber-Two and -Three had hit their internal clocks and were counting off from sixty seconds.

"Amber-Leader," Amber-Three suddenly said, his voice cracking at the edges like ice suddenly heated, "I'm having some problems with my disengagement module, requesting permission to restart count."

"What's wrong, Amber-Three?" Amber-Leader asked, diverting his full attention to his wingmen.

"I...I don't know," Amber-Three replied hesitantly, "The diagnostic is reporting something wrong in valve twelve, right under the hardpoint. It's glowing red, but it's not telling me what's wrong."

Amber-Leader thought fast. They could not restart the count; if they did not pull this off quickly, they were going to have to call off the entire mission without dropping their cargo. Time was not on their side. But he had no intention of losing Amber-Three because of technical difficulties on an escort mission.

"Amber-Two," Amber-Leader ordered, "Detach from formation and tail Amber-Three, see if you can get a visual of what's wrong on Amber-Three's hardpoint. We are not restarting the count, repeat, _not_ restarting the count. Amber-Three, continue on my wing at best speed. ETA, thirty-two seconds."

Amber-Leader quickly flipped a switch, switching to the frequency of the MagiTek troopers. "Sergeant Antilles," Amber-Leader quickly snapped with little explanation or warning, "We're going to drop you guys down in about thirty seconds. Stand by." Without waiting for a reply from Sergeant Antilles, Amber-Leader quickly switched back towards his own squadron frequency.

"Ah, Amber-Leader?" Amber-Two said hesitantly, "I'm trailing Amber-Three, and we have a problem. There are ice crystals on Amber-Three's hardpoints, around the valves. The fuel's freezing inside the valves, sir."

"ETA twenty seconds," Amber-Leader said quickly, instinct taking over instead of logic or intelligence, not knowing how he was going to give out his orders, but only knowing he _needed_ to, for the sake of calming his men to give them the impression that he had things under control, "Amber-Two, the moment you detach the MagiTek armor, connect with Amber-Three's left hardpoint, give him a lift out of here. I am not losing a wingman out here."

"This is Amber-Three," Amber-Three suddenly said through the radio, panic seeping ever so slowly into his voice, "Amber-Leader, I'm losing control over my engines; the RPM is only at half the norm and decreasing, sir. I can't chug enough power out of this."

"Just hang on for five seconds!" Amber-Leader shouted into the radio, and his hand flew to a clutch on his left side, "Alright, guys, on Zulu! Three, two, one, Zulu!" Amber-Leader pulled on the clutch, hard.

With a clunk, the sky armor Amber-Leader was on bounced once as the excessive weight of the MagiTek armor loosened its burden from Amber-Leader's sky armor, dropping to the ground below. A thirty-feet drop was hardly going to do any damage to a MagiTek armor; Amber-Leader swiveled his head around just slightly and looked down as he saw the MagiTek armor he was carrying land safely onto the snow with a thud, creating a crater in the tundra. Amber-Two, trailing Amber-Three, dropped his MagiTek armor safely as well.

Amber-Three, however, did not go so smoothly.

"Amber-Leader," Amber-Three said, "My hardpoint is frozen, repeat, my hardpoint is frozen. I cannot disengage with my MagiTek armor..." there was a pause, and there came a dying whir on the radio that nearly froze Amber-Leader cold, colder than the winds of Narshe made him, as the familiar sound of an engine dying made its way through the radio speakers, and Amber-Three cried, "...engines offline! I'm losing altitude..."

Two flashes from Amber-Leader's right side caught his attention as Amber-Leader turned to look just in time; for a horrifying moment, Amber-Leader thought Amber-Three had crashed and exploded. It was not the case, however. Tracer bullets flew from Amber-Two's double 20mm chain gun as the guns strobed twice, flashing across the snowy winds. Amber-Two's aim was excellent; the rounds struck directly at the hardpoint connecting the MagiTek armor to Amber-Three's sky armor, causing minimal damage, but also destroying the hardpoint. The MagiTek armor plummeted to the ground before making a safe landing in the snow, where it disappeared behind them, lost in the fog. As Amber-Three lost altitude, Amber-Two quickly accelerated right on Amber-Three's left side...

Their hardpoints hooked just in time as they caught, and Amber-Two pulled up slowly, taking Amber-Three with him.

"Oh..." Amber-Three's breathless voice whispered over the radio, "Oh, my Lord. That was..." he trailed off, unable to continue.

"Amber-Three, this is Amber-Two," a soft voice replied like a mother trying to comfort a child, "Amber-Three, are you okay? Do you hear me, Grimm?"

"Y...Yeah," Amber-Three replied shakily, gulped, finished lamely, "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks."

"Good," Amber-Leader replied in as still a voice as he could, and clicked off the radio for just a moment. He exhaled, his breath shaky; he had been holding it ever since Amber-Three's engine went dead, and his heart was jumping like mad. He leaned back against his own chair for a moment, trying to allow the shivers to leave his body. He had been absolutely terrified at the thought of losing Amber-Three, but now that it was all over, he was trying to get the adrenaline out of his system.

"Amber-Four to Amber-Leader, is everything alright over there?"

Amber-Leader's shaky hand went for the switch on the radio, missing it twice before hitting it on the third time, and replied in a forcefully calm voice, "Copy, Amber-Four. We're all right over here. We'd better get the hell out of here; Amber-Three's engine is dead. Bearing one-seven-zero; let's get the hell out of here. Let's not stay in this hellhole any longer."

"Roger that, Captain," Amber-Four said, "Bearing one-seven-zero, leaving area immediately. RTB."

Amber-Leader sighed as he finally managed to calm himself in the seat of his sky armor, easing out the adrenaline running in his body. His job here was done; he was only responsible for getting the squadron back to base now. Hoping that their sky armors will make it back to base without further abuse from the weather, Amber-Leader silently prayed for the three MagiTek troopers who were left in the snowy tundras to complete their mission in territory so hostile for the sky armors.

* * *

Sergeant Biggs Darklighter did not land graciously. 

Aside from the fact that he was extremely startled by the fact that they were given little warning to anticipate a drop, even more startled with another sky armor shooting the hardpoint connecting his MagiTek armor another sky armor, his descent was somewhat tilted with a forced detachment. The gyroscopes inside the MagiTek armor quickly spun to compensate for the lack of balance.

Biggs growled as he struggled with the controls of the MagiTek armor, wrestling with them. It was difficult; a MagiTek armor was a colossal metallic beast twenty feet in height, and was a bipedal tank resembling a gargoyle. With odd curves here and there, and an odd angle jutted out at different places, it seemed very much like a monster from some metallic hell. Engines in the back kept the MagiTek armor alive with a mixture of technology and magical energy, and at the very fore of the MagiTek armor was the "mouth" of the beast, a cannon that fired a beam of concentrated energy powerful enough to punch a hole through a twenty-foot thick brick wall, the MagiTek armor's main offensive option against fortified positions. A 20mm chain gun was equipped on each side of the MagiTek armor for anti-infantry work.

MagiTek armors were a fearsome force to behold on the battlefield. With thick armor, powerful weapons, and great versatility, MagiTek armors were almost impossible to bring down with conventional weapons. The open cockpit was deeply entrenched into the armor, making it almost impossible to kill pilots from the ground level, although veterans have learned to use sniping techniques from higher ground, luring them into a minefield, or throwing Molotov cocktails. Despite this, there was no real way to bring down one of these mechanical beasts other than brute force attacks.

The gyroscopes kicked in just in time, and Biggs' MagiTek armor tilted back to level just a bit...

Biggs had the thick snow to thank for to cushion his impact; the MagiTek landing was soft enough as could be expected from a thirty-foot drop, and Biggs was not forcibly pressed into his seat as he had almost expected, nor did he come close to biting his tongue.

The problem was that he was currently balancing his MagiTek armor on the edge of the right foot of the mechanical beast. That was not good.

Biggs felt the MagiTek armor tilt slightly to the right; if the MagiTek armor collapsed onto its side, it was going to take one hell of an effort to get it back up. Biggs had no intention of letting that happen. He pulled two levers quickly; one activated an emergency set of gyroscopes, the other vented emergency coolant through the vents on the right. He knew it was a risky maneuver at best, but venting the coolant allowed for more heat to build up inside the MagiTek armor, something he was willing to do in sub-zero temperatures such as this. The gyroscopes quickly compensated for the balance, and the gas that jetted out from the right vents helped push the MagiTek armor slightly to the left. The MagiTek armor, like a beast, groaned at the pressure as it balance precariously on the side of one foot...

...And, with a _thump_, descended safely onto the snow with both feet on the ground.

Biggs, after exhaling a long breath, having had held it there ever since he struggled to get his MagiTek armor sraight, quickly ran a diagnostics. A board of red and green lights began to light up, each small light bulb lined against a code to its right. One light was red, indicating that the hardpoint had been damaged; that was from the sky armor's 20mm cannons, with it shooting through the hardpoint to detach the MagiTek armor from the sky armor. _Pilots are insane_, Biggs scowled as he checked the rest of his diagnostics. Otherwise, everything else was green across the board, functioning normally.

Biggs clicked his radio on. "This is Biggs," Biggs said into the radio clearly, knowing the snowstorm was going to hamper their radio communications, "Wedge, respond."

There was a crackle on the radio before Wedge responded. "This is Wedge, roger," Wedge's familiar voice replied through the radio, "I have you on my pathfinder device, hang on. You seem to be dropped a bit far from our LZ. I'm coming over."

"Yeah, we had some problems with the hardpoints," Biggs agreed, paused, then added, "Do you have visual confirmation of Witch?"

"Witch" was the codename that the two had came up with for the woman with the slave crown on her head. Reduced to a shell without a soul, capable of only following orders, the woman they knew as Terra Branford, the one who had burned Vector four years ago, was still a frightening force with her ability at magic. "Witch", although a derisive nickname, was, by all accounts, a suiting one for her.

"She's right beside me," Wedge grunted, "Nothing seems to be wrong with her; hell, she landed better than I did. She's still following orders, though. We're both coming your way. Remain where you are. Over."

Biggs followed his orders, staying where he was for several seconds, cursing himself for not brining extra clothes. He had two sweaters under his armor and a jacket over it; his helmet was supposed to protect his ears from frostbite. He still couldn't remember a time where he was colder.

It took a moment before soft thumps of metallic claws crunching onto the soft snow became louder, and the silhouettes of two MagiTek armors appeared before becoming fully visible in the storm. Biggs was somewhat glad that there was the snow to muffle the footsteps of the MagiTek armor; he couldn't imagine a stealth mission with the MagiTek armor causing stomping sounds that resounded miles away.

"Equipment check?" Wedge asked over the radio as soon as he was close enough to make a full visual confirmation of Biggs.

"Green across the board, other than a blown hardpoint," Biggs replied after looking at a diagnostics on his MagiTek armor again, "We seem to be good."

"Alright, then," Wedge replied as he consulted a map pinned to the instruments of his MagiTek armor, studied it as he fought down a shiver that was going down his spine, "I estimate that we landed southeast of Narshe, judging by our earlier pathfinder readings. We should probably go something that brings us northwest and recheck our maps."

"Roger," Biggs replied, "Northwest it is..."

* * *

It was at least half an hour of trudging in the freezing snowstorm before the gods above decided to smile upon the convoy of MagiTek armor pilots and bring an end to the snowstorm. Granted, the temperatures were still low, but at least there was none of the biting winds that chilled them to the bone, and none of the snow that got into their eyes or armor. The timing to the lifting of the shroud could not have been more timely as the three MagiTek armors stomped their way up to a ravine; the three stepped up to the cliff edge as they looked down at what was below. 

Even from a distance, it was difficult not to make out the town of Narshe. Standing on the cliff edge, both Biggs and Wedge could see steam rising from a large collection of metallic and metal boxes that climbed up from one side of the canyon walls, a cluster of buildings and mining facilities that made up Narshe. Although it was nighttime, there were still a considerable amount of lights on in the town, flickers of orange and yellow sparkles in the darkness. Understandable; Narshe was cold, and no one wanted to be caught in the middle of the night without a warm fire. Intelligence reported that Narshe worked with a lot of steam and coal technology anyways, so they had expected there to be many sources of heat and light.

"There's the town," Biggs nodded as he stopped his MagiTek armor right by the cliff and looked down at Narshe below, comparing its geographic location with the map he had on the MagiTek armor, "Looks like our intelligence was on the money. I guess we should assume the rest of their report to be true, then. You remember everything that was discussed at briefing, right? Our objectives, rules of engagement..."

"Yeah, I do," Wedge replied, resting his eyes upon the town as well. Although he had no idea how asleep the town was with all the lights on, he hoped they still had the element of surprise. The holes on the side of the cliff walls told him how extensive the mines were here.

"Yep," Biggs sighed, trying to ease his nerves, "Our Esper is here..."

"Hard to believe an Esper's been found intact there," Wedge nodded absentmindedly as he concentrated on looking for a way town, then found a traversable path on the side of the cliff, "one thousand years after the War of the Magi..."

Biggs snorted. "Probably just another wild goose chase," Biggs tried going for a grin, relieving a bit of the tension that had built up as they talked about Espers and the War of the Magi; although they had known that it was historical, most people could not do less than dismiss it as a fairy tale that happened in ages past. However, the armors they sat upon proved that such a force existed, a testament of magic encased within metal and technology. The thought didn't sit well with either of them.

"I don't know," Wedge admitted quietly, his gaze somewhat distant, "They wouldn't have let us use _her_ unless they were confident the intel was good. We even had a Colonel from the Double-Eye to brief us. Don't think it's another one of those wild goose chases." He then extended a hand and pointed at the path leading down the cliff, something that looked like ramp parallel to the cliff wall leading from the top of the cliff to the ravine below.

Biggs, however, did not follow Wedge's finger; at the mention of "her", Biggs had turned to look at Terra. He squinted his eyes; he did not trust Terra, even with the slave crown on her head. She had set the city of Vector ablaze four years ago, and what made it worse was that she was subjected to the "training" of General Kefka Palazzo, who was sure to pit her against his own Imperial troopers, treating them like targets for some new war toy. Men and women who were sacrificed just so General Palazzo could play around with magic, the Witch a catalyst. Afterwards, he put her to good use eliminating resistance forces of the former Republic of Kuboc in Maranda. Biggs had managed to catch a glimpse of her in action once, and that once was all he needed to figure out that he would never trust any girl who could, and would, set men, women, and children ablaze with a mere thought.

"Ah, yes," Biggs scowled, keeping his eyes on the soulless Terra, who sat on her MagiTek armor, completely oblivious that the soldier was talking about her, "our..." he paused, and did not need to use a lot of effort to force contempt into his voice, "..._witch_, or whatever she is. Why the hell did General Palazzo even send her here with us? If the rumors I've heard are correct, she fried about fifty of our MagiTek armor soldiers in under three minutes to satisfy some sort of training regime General Palazzo had set up. Kind of make your skin crawl, doesn't it…?" Biggs paused, then, perhaps dispelling Wedge's possible assumption of nervousness from Biggs, added, "…With disgust, anyways."

"Watch your tongue," Wedge said sternly, stepping closer to Biggs and Terra as he moved his MagiTek armor over, "I think you know what General Palazzo would do to you if he heard you say that."

Biggs grinned. "That's why I get to say it behind his back, when he's out of earshot," Biggs admitted sheepishly and chuckled. Wedge found it difficult not to follow Biggs' example as a grin formed on his face as well, but he suppressed the smile pretty quickly, and the curl on his lips disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. He was worried that the face would freeze and be plastered on his face.

"At any rate, just relax," Wedge said, seemingly assured and confident, "With that slave crown on her head, she's a mindless puppet for us to control. The girl won't even breathe unless we tell her to…" Wedge grinned, "…Hell, if you wanted to, maybe you can order her to get all slutty on you."

Biggs scowled at that, not appreciating Wedge's attempt at humor, at least, not in that direction. "I'm not letting that bitch get anywhere near me," Biggs scowled.

"Fair enough," Wedge murmured as he twisted and pulled the levers on the MagiTek armor, maneuvering it back towards the path down the canyon, "At any rate, it's time to get going. We'll approach from the east. Move out!"

* * *

Sven huddled close to the furnace from the outside of one of the residential buildings; in Narshe, the furnaces vented hot air directly into people's homes, powering the heating in the houses in a set radius. Thus, not only did it satisfy the needs of those indoors, but those caught outside could warm themselves standing close to the large metallic urn. 

Sven sighed as he felt the heat warm his cold limbs; he hated militia duty, but he knew that his father's wages as a coal miner could not possibly feed a family of six, with three children who were too young to work. He loosened the strap of the submachine gun he carried with him, allowing the leather loop to put less pressure around his shoulder. Although he was dressed in various articles of white clothing that left only his eyes exposed to the cold air, it did nothing to stop the cold Narshe winds to getting to his bones. While some may comment that he looked like a mummy, with scarves wrapped around his body under the heavy white militia jacket he wore, Sven knew that it was a necessity.

Another sigh from Sven's lips. Ever since the Empire finished its conquest of the Southern Continent, it had been setting its sights up to the North. Although it seemed as if the great, massive empire was still quite far away, Sven knew that the town elder didn't think so. Believing that the town should keep its neutrality, the town elder had beefed up its militia, and allowed the conscripting of younger men, which was why Sven was even here. He hated the job, and the cold, but he knew it was a means to an end. Besides, war was something that was far away, something they hear about now and then, but not theirs to actually experience.

The town of Narshe was essentially a city built out of a combination of rocks, wood, and metal. The canyons provided the stone, the nearby forests provided the wood, and the mines provided the metal. Although, at first glance, Narshe seemed nothing more than a maze of log cabins built across the extremely uneven terrain of the ravine, but as one got closer, they would begin to see obvious differences. Bridges crisscrossed the canyons of Narshe, leading from one mine to another. Hot steam rolled from the city into the skies, metallic machines, built to power Narshe's mining industry, released hot air into the city as a means of heating. Pipes directed hot air into the houses, while outdoor furnaces, such as the one Sven stood in front of, provided some semblance of heat for those caught outside. Narshe, an industrial power in its own right, shared a peaceful trade alliance with Figaro, an economic pact that had little political strings over it. While Narshe provided Figaro with raw minerals, Figaro continued to help Narshe with infrastructure and technological advancement. Already, Narshe's ability to survive the harsh winters of these canyons with technological machines proved a certain amount of substantial gain from their engineering efforts.

The furnaces of Narshe were of industrial-strength, a network of them spread throughout Narshe. Their purpose was not to just heat the city, but also to power the mining operations in Narshe through heat energy. Although not nearly as powerful as MagiTek, heat energy had been proven to be an extremely reliable source of energy that the miners of Narshe used to their full advantage. The source of power was not only extended to the mines, but to the rest of the city as well. While most of the world still relied on oil lamps and chandeliers, Narshe was enjoying the luxuries of electric lights. Sven greatly appreciated Narshe's furnaces, and the only real drawback he could point out was the great noises the furnaces made at times, sometimes amounting to a loud hiss, others a crack or a sizzle, sounds that could reverberate in an unholy matter between the canyon walls.

Which was why he missed the first few thumps. Sven had first dismissed them as sounds that the furnaces were making, sounds that were not quite uncommon from the large metallic contraptions. But as the thumps became more rhythmic, louder, Sven could actually feel the thumping below his feet, the ground shaking below him. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the fog, looking down the street. Snowstorms didn't generally make it this low into the canyon, but it, nonetheless, still provided a hazy view of the city.

"Hello?" Sven called out pathetically into the snow. He did not know what to make of the situation; Narshe was not positioned over any fault lines, meaning no earthquakes, and it didn't feel like the explosions in the mines every now and then. Besides, it was bloody two in the morning.

"Anyone there?" Sven tried again, still uncertain what to do. There was a lack of caution; Sven anticipated something a bit out of the ordinary, but not anything that was necessarily dangerous. Already, he made out a massive silhouette in the fog, barely noticeable, a dark shape that was growing in the fog. Sven paused for just a moment in amazement and awe. _Is this the rumored sasquatch everyone's been talking about?_ Sven wondered to himself in some excitement.

Then a rapid series of fire flashed from the silhouette.

That Sven was safe was a result of poor aim rather than his reflexes. The eighth bullet had already implanted itself in the ground as tracers, red, orange, and yellow, tore from the silhouette in the distance, tearing up the street on Sven's right side. Sven frantically stumbled as he tripped away from the sudden explosion of stone and gravel, waving his arms frantically as 20mm rounds launched bits of the street into Sven's face, pelting him with rocks. The chain gun worked its way up, hitting the streets further down just as Sven managed to complete his stumble to the ground, and trying to scramble up or scramble _away_.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!" he screamed rapidly as his gloved hands and booted feet worked frantically in the snow on all fours, trying to get himself upright again, running away from the MagiTek armor in the distance. The shapes had become more obvious, three massive, metallic gargoyles marching in from the other end of the street. Every footstep they made rumbled the ground, and threatened to send Sven off balance, who was feeling very sensitive to just about every little detail, every little sensation at the moment. Behind him, the chain gun had stopped firing…undoubtedly to reposition and re-aim as it swiveled on the MagiTek armor, bearing down on him again. Sven was almost sure he heard the whir of the machinery inside the MagiTek armor churning to turn that chain gun on him.

Sven had moreorless managed to get back onto his feet, although, considering the snow, Sven realized it might have been better had he resorted to all fours. Rapid clapping sounds behind him indicated that the MagiTek armor was firing again, and Sven figured that, this time, the chain guns weren't going to miss. Instinctively, he dove to the side, and, almost immediately, traces flew right by him, searing through the air in hot, angry lines as they whizzed through where he had been just a moment before. Another set of gunfire sounded out behind him, and Sven thought he was gone for, that then chain gun had tracked him and was opening fire, but, thankfully, it missed him again, instead, tearing through the wooden walls of a cabin on his right. Splinters of wood flew out from the cabin wall, some of the splinters exploding in Sven's face. Sven gave a scream as some of the splinters launched themselves at high speeds at Sven's face, a few even implanting themselves into Sven's cheeks. His eye felt a nasty pain and burn, and he instinctively closed his eyes, found it hurt a lot more. Was something lodged in his eye? He wasn't sure if it was just something in his eye, or something that had impaled his eye.

Not that he really cared at the moment. He ran.

The chain gun had stopped firing to track Sven's movements, and Sven took just that moment to reach a T-junction and turn right, just as the second series of bullets had finished up tearing up the path to the right. The turn, however, caused his to slip across the snow. He landed on his right side, pain lancing through his aching, numb muscles. He had a feeling that the splinters had become a lot more deeply lodged in with the fall, but he couldn't feel it anymore; the cold had gotten to his nerves, and he was feeling numb, the pain very distant. He barely managed to pick himself up, continued to run, and confirmed that he was definitely injured as he realized his run refused to amount to anything more than a limp.

Going further down the street, Sven felt dizzy, disorientated. His vision was hazy and obscured by crimson, his blood, flowing into his eyes. He was breathing heavily as he saw two militiamen, looking like the older huskies, judging by their build, that he didn't recognize, not with their masks on covering their mouths. They, too, had submachine guns slung across their shoulders, and were running towards Sven rapidly. Sven barely registered them before he managed to tumble into one of them in his panic.

"Sven, _Sven_!" the man growled as he steadied the young militiaman in his arms, "What the hell was that? We heard…"

Sven barely registered the fact that the man seemed to know him. "There's MagiTek armor over there!" Sven pointed further down the street at the T-junction, where the armors had yet to arrive, and repeated again for emphasis, "_MagiTek armor_!"

The militiaman widened his eyes in shock, looked at the other militiaman next to him, who was also in equal spirits. "Imperial MagiTek armor?" the militiaman repeated in surprise, feeling the thuds that three sets of metallic feet were forcing onto the ground, then turned to Sven, settling him against a wall, "Wait here. Wait!" Not waiting for a response from Sven, the two quickly ran towards the T-junction, and, upon arriving, pressed themselves against the cabin wall to the left. The first militiaman quickly took a peek around the corner, hoping to obtain visual confirmation of his targets. Indeed, the three large silhouettes only fifty meters away confirmed that Narshe was indeed host to three MagiTek armors.

"Goddammit!" the first militiaman scowled as he withdrew his head from around the corner, "Not even Narshe's safe anymore!"

The second militiaman, apparently understanding that visual contact was confirmed, frowned and grimaced behind his mask. "What do we do?" he asked, frustration obvious in his voice, "We don't have enough anti-armor weapons here…"

"What the hell is the Empire doing in Narshe?" a third voice suddenly exclaimed behind them, and the two whirled around in surprise, instinct prompting them to swivel their submachine guns to bear at Sven, who had managed to limp beside him. Blood was flowing profusely from the right side of his face.

"Goddammit, Sven, we told you to stay!" the second militiaman scowled at the younger as he lowered his submachine gun from Sven's wide-eyed face…or wide-left-eyed face. The right side of Sven's face was badly screwed up, puncture with splinters and wounds. It was sickening to look at, yet the militiamen managed.

"Sven," the first militiaman thought fast, apparently deciding that they didn't have much time to make a decision, "you're with me. You can't run fast enough, so we're going to try to buy some time. Victor, the militia. Go alert everyone, tell them what's going on, get them ready for anti-armor warfare."

"Got it," the second militiaman, Victor, nodded frantically and quickly took off from where he had originally come from, tearing down the streets then turning left at the first staircase that led further up the canyon. The first militiaman, meanwhile, was busy throwing off the safety of his submachine gun, and making sure Sven could do the same. Sven missed the safety once, but he got it right the second time, bringing the weapon to bear. The militiaman wondered if Sven could actually see straight enough to shoot.

"Sven," the militiaman whispered to Sven, who seemed positively spooked and shaken, "Listen to me. Aim high, just above the cockpit. Got it? High, above the cockpit. Submachine guns aren't going to do jack shit to MagiTek armor, but if you get lucky, you might ricochet one into the cockpit. You got it?"

Sven nodded shakily. The militiaman was not satisfied with this reply. "I want to hear you," the militiaman demanded, "You got it?"

"Y-Yeah," Sven repeated, "I got it." His face was becoming as pale as the white garments, now stained with blood, he wore.

The militiaman nodded, holding his submachine gun with the barrel pointed down, turning towards the T-junction, preparing the charge. Motioning Sven forward, he muttered, "Cover me."

Sven did. Limping over to the corner, he ensured that the submachine gun was fed with a magazine, locked in right, before swiveling around, nearly falling in disorientation, but making it. Sven tucked the weapon close to his shoulder, allowing his shoulder to absorb some of the recoil, then fired off three bursts in rapid succession, nine rounds out of the barrel of the submachine gun. After the three bursts, the militiaman quickly jumped out from behind a corner and began to dash towards the other side; there was a stone pillar there, and, from his perspective, a good position for Sven and himself to attempt a flanking maneuver, although he was extremely skeptical about how well that was going to work against MagiTek armor.

The militiaman managed to catch the Sven's last tracer flying out of the barrel and realized his aim was way off. He was firing far above the MagiTek armor, missing it by about one or two feet above the armor…which essentially meant three or four feet above the pilot's head. It was obvious that Sven's sight, or perhaps his aim, was badly impaired by his injuries. Thankfully, though, the snow had provided some form of cover and camouflage; the MagiTek armors could not see Sven clearly. All they did was train their chain guns at the source of the strobe of light from Sven's submachine gun, leaving the militiaman free to run over to the side of the street and duck behind a stone pillar without being scathed. Chain gun fire opened up on Sven's position as soon as the militiaman ducked down; the militiaman turned back in time to see that Sven had already retracted back behind the wall.

The militiaman waited as the chain guns stopped clicking before he turned just slightly out from behind the pillar from the right side to attack. His angle of attack made any offensive mounted by a MagiTek armor just slightly more difficult. Unlike Sven, however, the militiaman had to step back slightly before firing, pushing and extending his submachine gun outwards towards the MagiTek armor before firing. Sven had participated in a Figaro-run training program before, where they were taught to handle submachine guns by placing it against the shoulder. Most Narshe militiamen, however, pushed their weapons forward, stretching the loop taut, before firing. In this case, though, it worked to his advantage; he presented a smaller target area for the MagiTek armors. Most of shots hit right above the cockpit, straight and true, but the angle of the cockpit really prevented him from getting an open shot, and none of the bullets managed to ricochet in. Imperial technicians were well aware of likely bullet trajectories fired at a MagiTek armor through conventional warfare, and had designed to the cockpits to encourage ricochet out of the armor, not in. It was going to take some luck to really manage a ricochet in.

With two targets on either side of the street, there were now two lines of fire directed at two different locations, one towards the corner where Sven was hiding, the other behind the stone pillar. Even in his dazed state, his fuzzy vision, Sven could still manage to see two angry orange lines pummeling the general area where he and his commander were. He noted the absence of a third chain of bullets, as he had been quite sure there were three MagiTek armors in all. He peeked around the corner again, just to make sure that he had not seen wrong; his vision was no less hazy than it had been before, but the MagiTek armors were just close enough for him to make out three blurry shapes. Only two were firing their guns, red lines drawing across two directions, one towards him. Sven immediately stumbled back and screamed as more splinters exploded in his face, although none of them, thankfully, lodging themselves in, although it did rather felt like he had been whipped across the face.

As Sven managed to press himself against the wall for support, he suddenly noticed that there was a great flash of light in front of him that encompassed his entire vision; he could not see exactly what, not with his remaining eye as bad as it is, but as Sven felt an invisible force suddenly pushing against him, striking him like a massive subsonic fist, the sudden loud rumbling against his eardrums as they screamed in protest and overloaded, he had a feeling that _something_, something terrible, had happened behind the stone pillar his commander had been hiding behind. The light had barely faded as he felt the heat of an explosion not too far away, only across the street, when he finally managed to barely regain his bearings, trying to make his way back to the corner again, if only to see what had happened.

There was a second flash of light, and then Sven wasn't thinking anymore.

* * *

"Sergeant Darklighter, rules of engagement," Wedge said sharply into his radio, displeasure evident in his voice, "You were not supposed to fire until fired upon." He quickly looked over at the two charred bodies on the ground on both sides of the street, burnt by the discharge of the Witch's MagiTek armor's primary beam weapon, and continued on, sending Terra a signal via radio that outlined their navigational route while he maneuvering his MagiTek armor to turn right at the T-intersection. While Terra was on point, Biggs hung back on the left, while Wedge took the right flank. The three of them turned right as a delta, eyes wary for threats. _Someone_ had to have heard gunfire and explosions, especially in a canyon, where the sounds reverberated like an echo, but, if they were lucky, the militia might not yet realize that these were MagiTek armors they were dealing with. They might come in ill-prepared. 

Wedge didn't want to take that chance, though. MagiTek armors were deadly and provided a very serious advantage in the battlefield, but they weren't invincible. Molotov cocktails, or a talented sniper, could probably take out a MagiTek armor, or the pilot, if the pilot refused to be careful. _Expect the worst, hope for the best_, Wedge throught.

"We had the essence of stealth," Biggs protested, his voice obviously defensive even through the radio, "I didn't want to lose the element of surprise by a lone guard going to alert the entire city."

Although Wedge was generally a stickler for orders, Wedge admitted that Biggs' judgment made sense. Their primary objective was to capture the Esper here while trying to avoid unnecessary conflict; compared to the numbers they'd have to face from Narshe's militia if a full warning made it out through Narshe, a minor skirmish in the middle of the street, to Wedge's pragmatic demeanor, was justifiable. Still…

"We just blew up a T-junction," Wedge said dryly, "So much for stealth." The Narshe militia would undoubtedly be placed on alert; gunshots and explosions didn't exactly go unnoticed.

In the street behind them, several civilians had begun to open windows and doors, peering out to see what could possibly be making those noises. The sight of three MagiTek armors stomping right past, however, was motivation enough for them to quickly close their doors and windows and duck for cover in the midst of screams and panic. Wedge was actually somewhat glad for that; although Wedge had inflicted collateral damage, accidental non-military deaths, in past operations before, he admitted that he didn't need any more dead civilians on his conscience.

Surprisingly, however, they did not encounter resistance for the next five minutes. Although they had run into a very few number of civilians, all of whom were intelligent enough to disappear immediately behind the nearest corner, there were no other militiamen in the area, which worried Wedge to a certain extent. He couldn't quite get over the feeling that they were walking straight into a trap. Wedge was confident that he could survive a trap, with his MagiTek armor, but that was no reason for him to get cocky or overconfident. The loss of respect for an enemy, even if he seriously outgunned and outclasses the militiamen here, was often an invitation for a quick death. He kept himself on high alert, scanning the street for more threats, finding none.

* * *

Arvis Jun woke up with very little surprise or fanfare to the sound of gunfire and explosions. Lifting his head from where he had buried them in his arms on his desk, he looked at the window in a tired manner, watched as flashes of light in the distance, followed by two explosions, lit the night of Narshe, casting harsh shadows against powerful lights in the canyon. With a sigh, Arvis brushed his brown hair back as he rested his elbows on the table, supporting his head with them as his fingers entrenched themselves in the flock of hair. His receding hairline probably showed him to have at least forty, if not fifty, years of experience at life, experience that had not been wasted, apparent by the calm he showed in the situation at hand. 

_So_, Arvis thought resignedly, _it has begun._

He looked wearily at the oil lamp on his desk; it was still lit, for Arvis had fallen asleep at his desk and had not put it out. A similar, but larger, fire was burning in the fireplace; although Narshe had interior heating, Arvis enjoyed the company of a fireplace, the tradition of having an actual, warm fire somewhere in the room. _Call me old-fashioned_, Arvis admitted to himself, _but I think I actually have some sort of sentimentality towards that._ Before him, documents of all manners were scattered across the desk, and Arvis, with some relief, noted that none of the papers had been crumpled or folded by Arvis' slight nap on the table. _And I had told myself it was just going to be for a few minutes_, Arvis thought in amusement, _Age is catching up on me._

Arvis sighed, scratching the back of his head as he brushed his hands through his brown hair again, combed neatly back. Of middle-class, Arvis owned the second floor of a two-floor residential building in Narshe; the first floor had yet to be bought. His clothing showed his stable financial situation; they were decent blue garments, not fancy, but at least of good material. His health indicated decent upbringing, although the traces and lines on his skin indicated that he was, during his younger days, probably rather prodigiously strong.

Letters by messenger owls had brought him the information he needed just the day before. Already, documents before him detailed the fact that a mysterious, previously unregistered ship of southern design, apparently christened the _Sunshine_, had pulled into the ports of South Figaro. This itself was of no real consequence; new ships showed up all the time, and the Kingdom of Figaro, located further south, had an alliance with the Gesthalian Empire. It wasn't all that usual to see trade relations between the two nations. Yet the sudden appearance of a previously unknown southern ship, coupled with the recent discovery in the mines, the appearance of shady characters in Narshe, reported increases of Imperial "ambassadors" in Figaro, and the latest letter from sources in South Figaro confirming a sighting of six Imperial sky armors, pretty much confirmed what was going on. The most recent documents were then cross-referenced with documents received from times past. They checked out.

Arvis sighed again. Sometimes, he hated being right.

A single squadron of sky armors from the Imperial Air Force did not, as a rule, penetrate enemy airspace without more support under the Gesthalian Imperial military doctrine. It was sensible, conventional; sky armors were well-armored, powerful, and were some of the most advanced flying machines to date, but they were not invincible. They carried limited ammunition and fuel. Furthermore, their roles in battles were mostly linked to close air support and target bombing. Yet the squadron was in a clear vector that headed towards South Figaro or Narshe. But Figaro was aligned with the Empire, a public fact that neither side had been hiding, not to mention the arrival of a suspicious, unregistered, but ultimately unarmed ship in the ports of South Figaro discouraged theories of an attack on Figaroian territory; South Figaro was not a likely target. Bottom line: Narshe was the target for this one.

Which made very little sense. Narshe's natural geographic features posed a nightmare for the IAF. Narshe was effectively entrenched in a mountain ravine, blessed by protection from conventional air forces. The only real effective way for the air force to operate would be to initiate a trench run by dropping into the canyon, flying linear through the ravine to fire upon a target with a small window of opportunity; that, Arvis knew, was rather unconventional. Whatever the IAF was doing in the Northwestern Continent, it sure as hell wasn't going to fight a battle.

_Meaning_, Arvis had concluded just before he fell asleep hours ago, _this is a black op._

Still, he could not hear the whine of engines in the distance, no turbojets propelling sky armors through the canyons. Hell, sky armors can't even fly properly in Narshe. There was a great moment of silence as the deafening roar of the explosions finally subsided, and no further sounds of combat were heard…at least, not then. Judging by the sounds of gunfire, coupled with two rapid explosions, Arvis concluded that there were MagiTek armors in Narshe. It wasn't all that hard to deduce; the militia of Narshe didn't have too many anti-armor weapons, which ruled out them using explosive weaponry within the first three minutes of battle, when they first detected the intruders. Ergo, they had to be something heavy, something Imperial, and Imperial troopers weren't known for carrying RPGs. MagiTek armor was the way to go, probably carried over by the sky armors.

MagiTek armor. In Narshe. Arvis sighed a third time, his exasperation growing, as he finally lifted his head from his hands, looked out the window into the darkness, showing the mines in the distance.

_That Esper. It all started with that damned Esper._

When the last class two-drill in shaft thirteen broke down two weeks ago because of what, at first, seemed like an electrical surge, burning through its electric circuit, it had gained a slight form of attention as the miners were required to haul out a class-three drill, far larger and more powerful than the conventional class-two. Upon drilling at a twenty-degree downward angle through thirty feet of, surprisingly, _frozen_ granite, the hole suddenly spouted tongues of flame, damaging the class-three drill, but, thankfully, pressure meters had picked up the gas surge before then, and the miners had evacuated just in time. Although the miners were not trained for such a situation, they did understand that this was a sign that they had hit a gas pocket. The miners thought, with immense surprise, that they had found fuel.

Shaft thirteen immediately became the gossip of the week as three entire work crews were devoted to handle the drilling with a class-three, eager to see if they have truly struck oil. The only two known oil fields in the world were in Vector and the Figaro Desert, and, if Narshe managed to procure its own source of oil, it would, along with its mineral-rich mines, definitely be able to outdo the other cities in terms of economy. Three days of cautious drilling, along with two burnt-out drills (one electrical surge and one flaming gas pocket was what seemed to have taken them out, abnormally), finally made a breakthrough as the drilling suddenly reported a fracture of the outer wall. To the surprise of the excited miners, however, the half-meter wide fifty-meter long hole led to a cave, hollow, on the other side, and it sure as hell wasn't oil in there.

Although shaft thirteen was regardless as useless, not showing the signs of having either a mineral or oil deposit, some were still curious as to why there had been fire spewing from the hole twice during the drilling effort. Although not all the miners were interested, some of them received approval from the town elder to drill and expand to hole (and, later, detonate plenty of dynamite when the drilling proved to be too slow and costly) in an effort to create a path between the two caves to see what was on the other side.

That was when they found the Esper.

Upon discovering what had been found in shaft thirteen, the elder immediately gave the order to seal the entire shaft off, posting a double guard on the shaft. What the elder did not do, and what Arvis dearly wished the elder had done, was to increase secrecy on their findings; although Arvis had always been busy silently keeping track of the influx of people in and out of Narshe, identifying and rooting out potential Imperial spies, he was essentially a lone sleeper agent in Narshe, and Narshe was no small town. Coupled with the fact that the housewives had been gossiping about it, and the children, for heaven's sake, actually _sang_ about it in the streets, and Arvis had absolutely no hope in trying to prevent that information from going out to the Empire.

So the best Arvis could do was to quickly gather documents and reports from all of his sources, some from his superiors. The best he could do, he knew, was to simply make the best out of the situation. Information from across the globe were sent to him quickly days before; from the southern continent, ships had delivered their messages to South Figaro, the message passed to messenger pigeons who flew just to the base of the mountains housing Narshe, where the winds were too cold for the pigeons to fly, who then passed them on to the messenger owls. Arvis smiled inwardly; domestication of birds through the centuries have not gone rewarded. From the Northeastern Continent, the mail had gone through by train, passing through the land bridge between the two Northern continents, snaking along the southern pass of the strip of land in the east to Nikeah, then completely their delivery by messenger owls.

The intel Arvis had requested did not surprise him; it just confirmed what he had already known and guessed. The invasion of the Gesthalian Empire in the Northeastern Continent, targeting Doma. The sudden increase of disguised intelligence agents posing as ambassadors in Figaro. Sky armors spotted flying in the proximity of South Figaro, with the arrival of the _Sunshine_. Further military buildup in Vector. Confirmed deployment of heavy weapons, including MagiTek armor.

_Bastards are starting to get serious_, Arvis said to himself, squinting his eyes in quiet, heavy contemplation.

There was, however, one report that stood out…

Although unconfirmed, there had been rumors out on the streets that a man and woman, strangers to the population of Narshe, had been in Narshe three times before, arriving in town about once every six months. Further south, there were also official transcripts indicating that General Leo Cristophe had been on several diplomatic ventures in Figaro, each visit approximately six months apart from each other. The visits, noted on the report, were mostly for the sake of appearances than they were for practicality; no actual political progress or breakthrough arose out of these ventures. Although the reports certainly did implicate many different things, Arvis noted with some interest that in Figaro, Leo came along with a female aide dressed in a heavy cloak that masked most of her body, including her face, making a positive identification of her nearly impossible. The female aide herself never spoke, never moved without an order. _Telltale signs of slave crown influence_, Arvis told himself. Not to mention that, according to his documents, General Leo Cristophe's ventures to Figaro happened just around the same time the two strangers, one of which seemed to resemble the general, were spotted in Narshe.

_Coincidence?_ Arvis permitted himself a small smile, _I think not._

Reports from Vector had indicated the presence of the "aide" at the military speech of Emperor Gesthal in Vector only mere months ago. Word also reached the network that Kefka Palazzo was upping a lot of activity where MagiTek and the girl were concerned. As Arvis attempted to put the pieces together, the Esper, Imperial presence in the neutral town of Narshe, the sudden increase of activity in terms of MagiTek, the girl…could it be that they were sending her here to Narshe? To retrieve the Esper? In MagiTek armor? Most likely for the purpose of researching MagiTek? Could she part of the operation here? It was farfetched, but Arvis had a gut feeling this was possible. In fact, it was almost certain; why else would they try to throw all these factors together at this time?

Arvis thought in silent contemplation for a moment, the quiet interrupted only by more gunfire in the distant, towards the mines.

After a minute or so, Arvis sighed for the fourth time as pulled a blank sheet of parchment towards himself, quickly scribbled something to it. If he was wrong, he'd probably get a lot of grousing, but, if he was right, someone just might be saved tonight. It paid to be suspicious sometimes. That done, he pushed himself away from the desk, pulled himself up, and scratched the back of his head, where it was already starting to grow gray. With some reluctance, but ultimately with urgency, Arvis walked to the window closest to the desk, opened it, inviting the biting winds of Narshe to flow into the house. As the windows opened, however, a messenger owl, with brown and white feathers, ever alert, perched on Arvis' windowsill, turned its head to see Arvis standing there. The owl seemed to show some shock towards the sudden opening of the window, but not at Arvis being there. Arvis kindly stroked the feathers of the owl as he attached a letter to the owl's talon; the owl made a small, cooing sound at that.

"Get this to Locke Cole to me, will you?" Arvis asked the owl softly. The owl gave another small hoot, nuzzled its head against Arvis' head, then, spreading its wings, flapped them to gain itself a few centimeters from the perch, proceeded to move itself off the windowsill as it dropped into the air, then allowed the air to pass through its wings before propelling itself through the air with every powerful flap of its wings. It sped off through the air…then proceeded to disappear into the falling snow, the letter off.

Arvis watched the owl disappear before closing the window in front of him. _Now that is done_, Arvis thought, _let's get the rest of the show running._ Moving to front door of his house, he pulled a heavy cloak off the rack, wrapping himself in it to protect him from the cold outside. Opening the door, allowing the bitter winds to sweep past him and into the house, Arvis stepped out into the snow and closed the door behind him.

It was time to pay a visit to mine shaft thirteen.

* * *

"No militia detected," Biggs sounded surprised after more trudging in the streets of Narshe had brought them to the more desolate, industrial areas of Narshe, where wooden planks and metal pipes became more prevalent, and houses started to grow scarce in density, "You think they all chickened out on us?" 

Canyons walls on both sides showed wooden bridges snaking across the cliff walls, leading from one hole to another, perhaps caves, mine entrances. The town of Narshe was built around the mineral industry; the town had originally merely been a mining site, but as more and more minerals, especially ones used for steam-age industry, became more prevalent, obvious, and abundant in the mines, the miners realized the importance of the subterranean trenches that crisscrossed themselves through the ground and around the canyons, mineral-rich deposits that would power their technology. It became an endless yet effective cycle; minerals were mined to power mining machines, which, in turn, continued to mine for the materials that powered them. Narshe's natural resources kept a strong economic backbone in the town, one of the greatest reasons why Narshe was able to keep its independence and neutrality even in such times of strife and feudal conflicts.

Aside from its mines, Narshe was comparatively technologically advanced; the mining industry powered that, and while Narshe was still some ways behind Figaro and the Gesthalian Empire in the Southern Continent, it had direct access to minerals that the two other nations often bought for high prices. This, in turn, supplied Narshe's militia with weapons most soldiers don't carry, such as submachine guns. The town's geographical location, hidden within a canyon, almost made the area difficult to assault and easy to defend. Narshe survived several feudal conflicts in the Northwestern Continent until Figaro's prominent rise to power and the peace that followed hereafter.

"Doubt it," Wedge replied, "I think the local militia knows about the presence of an Esper. It's highly unlikely that they'll simply give up fighting and simply give up the mines."

Biggs sounded dubious, but no less cautious. "You think it's a trap?" Biggs inquired.

"I don't know," Wedge admitted, looking around, "Not like I want to jinx us, but something's not…"

No sooner had the words made it out of his mouth that, out of the blue, tracers suddenly flew across the air from different directions, and Wedge instinctively ducked even further into his cockpit as sparks flew across the hull of the MagiTek armor in front of him, bullets being deflected upwards harmlessly. It took Wedge a few moments to realize what had happened, and, even then, the realization wasn't all too stunning; the militia must've set up several squads prepared to ambush the threat, meaning they were probably aware that there were MagiTek armors in the city, and had hidden away in different locations, just waiting for the three MagiTek armors to walk straight into their killzone. From everywhere, submachine gun tracers were searing through the air, dividing the black, night sky with angry red lines.

"We've got them trapped now!" one of the militiaman crowed triumphantly as he proceeded to empty his magazine gun of lead.

_Trapped my ass_, Wedge thought dryly, _We're the ones with the MagiTek armors here._ "Don't deal with all of them," Wedge ordered through the radio to both Biggs and Terra even as he began to rotate his chain gun towards a militiaman taking cover on a porch, "Just cut through the front and take out the ones that matter!" The chain gun finished its rotation and began to spin, bullets flying out to join his target's set of tracers; the militiaman had ducked back for cover in an alleyway, so Wedge stopped his MagiTek armor for just a moment, rotated to the right just slightly, and fired his fore beam weapon from the MagiTek armor's "mouth"; an unbroken beam of energy, yellowish-white, fired from the cannon in discharge, a loud, crackling sound reminding Wedge of lightning connecting with its target, and, immediately, the area the beam had connected with exploded violently with a great burst of light; it was not quite a massive explosion, only about thirty feet in diameter, but it certainly did tear up the area where the militiaman had ducked behind, and Wedge was satisfied to see tracers weren't firing from that direction anymore.

Judging by the environment, the amount of tracers he could see, an estimate of the other tracers he probably couldn't see, their trajectories, sounds, possible attack vectors, Wedge decided that there had to be at least eight militiamen around, squad strength. The vast majority of them carried submachine guns; some had blades of various varieties attached to their belt, but, in attempting to steer clear of the MagiTek armors, none of them used it. It may have been a wiser choice; MagiTek armors were not necessarily known for agility, and trying to get up close and personal probably would've been more effective than simply firing submachine gun rounds randomly towards the cockpit and hoping one will luckily ricochet in. Under these circumstances, Wedge supposed that three MagiTek armor could probably take out an isolated platoon, maybe even a small company.

That was until Wedge spotted the barest amount of movement in front of him. A house, seemingly a middle-class residence, at his one o'clock had a balcony facing the street, a balcony that seemed rather large for something expected in Narshe, about six feet by twenty. A militiaman, camouflaged with the winter tundra in his white clothes, was situated on that balcony, kneeling down on one knee, facing the MagiTek armors.

On his shoulder was the unmistakable barrel of a rocket-propelled grenade…or perhaps more commonly known as a rocket launcher.

Wedge widened his eyes at the sight. "Watch out, watch _out_!" Wedge shouted through the radio, but his voice was loud enough for Biggs to hear his voice through the air, "RPG!"

Biggs had very little time to react or even provide any sort of reply. A flare from the balcony flashed, and, in a show of smoke, the grenade launched itself from the tube at high velocities, making its way straight towards Biggs' MagiTek armor…just as Biggs began to engage in evasive maneuvers. His attempt to move left, perhaps an instinctive reaction to hide behind Terra's MagiTek armor, did the trick; as Biggs moved just a foot left, the grenade managed to strike a smooth groove in the MagiTek armor's hull, and the impact was not at nearly enough force to warrant a detonation of the explosive projectile. Instead, it glanced off the metallic armor as it bounced off the MagiTek armor, dangerously close to the cockpit and where Biggs was sitting, and ricocheted into a nearby wall. The rocket detonated into a ball of dust, a gray smoke suddenly appearing beside the MagiTek armor just several yards away. Biggs cringed and flinched violently to the right as his left side suddenly deflected a rocket-propelled grenade and practically exploded. The cockpit was deep enough to protect him from exterior explosions, but the experience was still unnerving; Biggs could almost see the dent where the rocket had brushed off, and the explosion was still messing with his eardrums. He thought he heard a scream from someone behind him, near where the explosion exploded. The pulsing of a red light on one of the MagiTek armor's control panel told him that his 20mm chain gun was damaged and inoperable; had he been outside the MagiTek armor, he would've saw that the weapon, placed just under the "beak" of the MagiTek armor, had been torn off messily by the explosion.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Biggs exclaimed, apparently shaken by his near-miss with death as he managed to locate the source of the rocket, "Holy shit! RPG, one o'clock, second floor. Witch, take it out!"

Terra acknowledged the order silently as she returned favor in kind. A side compartment quickly opened from the MagiTek armor's left side as a reinforced rack of miniature missiles, each about three feet long, quickly slid out from the armor itself. Terra quickly inputted the target coordinates rapidly, fingers dancing across the buttons of her control panel, feeding the missile information on the approximate position of the balcony relative to the position of the MagiTek armor…and then keyed in the fire command. A plume of smoke erupted from the MagiTek armor as the missile was sent on its way, drawing an arc of gray smoke towards the balcony.

The soldier, having realized his grenade had missed, was about to duck back into the house to reload and perhaps fire the second one. He had barely made it to the doorway then something flashed on his left side…and then there was nothing as the missile exploded against the doorframe, a great explosion pretty much blowing the entire second floor to splinters. A cloud of fire erupted from the second floor as the explosion made contact with the furnace pipes, and sent a great, orange flare into the black night.

"We're attracting too much attention here!" Biggs grunted as he plowed his MagiTek armor ahead. Bullets fired off sparks against toughened metal as they ricocheted off the grooves of the MagiTek armor, lighting up the armor itself with a plethora of sparks that reminded him of the factory assembly lines in Vector.

Wedge thought fast; he didn't like pushing his luck, fighting against eight militiamen at once. Not even MagiTek armor was invincible, and, at this rate, they were going to get the entire militia on them. "Witch," Wedge blasted his command through the radio, "Crowd control!"

Another compartment on Terra's MagiTek armor opened, this time close to the chain gun and appearing as a compartment dropping down. Almost immediately, what looked like a metallic beverage can jettisoned itself from the compartment, flying across the air before hitting the ground. Upon impact, the can's lids suddenly popped off, hissing and spinning rapidly across the street as it released and extremely gaseous, potent, and compressed form of dimethyl sulfoxide and zolpidem from within the can, immediately spraying fog across the area in front of them. The two chemicals were used as the Empire's standard method of nonlethal takedown, situations where their targets must be taken alive. Colorless and odorless, a several grams of a mixture of DMSO and zolpidem could knock out a chocobo almost instantly. The chemical canisters Terra had fired, however, content a far more potent, compressed form of the mixture. When the newest models of MagiTek armors were outfitted with the chemical weapons, test firing engineers reported that targets within the chemical's influence experienced signs of spasms and attacks, before death after approximately two minutes.

The effects of the gas manifested no more than ten seconds. The gas had an effective blast radius of twenty meters, encompassing the streets that they were facing. As the three MagiTek armors continued to lumber on, the gunfire from the fore suddenly began to waver as the tracers became much more sporadic in trajectory, wavering. This lasted for about five seconds before they only came in short bursts at extended intervals, their aim completely off and, in some cases, in the completely wrong direction. After ten seconds, their fore fell completely silent. The MagiTek armor plowed right through the cloud of poison; DMSO and zolpidem were heavier than air, and, with the cockpit about twenty feet, the pilots were relatively safe from the poisonous gases below them which brimmed at about twelve feet. The fog dissipated and disappeared quickly as well; the chemical dissolved in the air at a rapid pace, and, for a concentration this thick, about ten to fifteen seconds was all was required before the air was free of toxins once more.

Sporadic fire continued to pepper the trio from the rear; the poisonous gases had not affected their assailants from the rear. "Biggs," Wedge snapped, "Rear guard."

"Negative," Biggs replied, his voice crackling through the radio, "My twenty mil is inoperable. Repeat, twenty mil in-op."

Wedge growled as he pulled on a lever, stopping the MagiTek armor in place, before pulling yet another one to the side; the metal gargoyle began to rotate slowly to the left in place, turned around to face the rear. Again, he was greeted by the side of a web of fire, interlacing tracers flying through the air towards the cockpit. Wedge quickly grabbed a control stick to his right and pulled on the trigger; his own tracers, rapid chain gun rounds, joined in on dividing the night into borders of fire, a sweeping motion through the enemy formation in front of him. The other two MagiTek armors behind him continued to move on while Wedge engaged, and their weakening footsteps told Wedge that he should probably hurry things up. Chain gun rounds splintered the walls and rounds where they struck, a single line of fire enough to force the militiamen to take cover, if only for a moment. No one messed with a large chain gun.

While the guards were still preoccupied with hiding from the shower of lead Wedge was pouring at them, Wedge quickly turned his MagiTek armor slightly to the side so his MagiTek armor was faced at a forty-five-degree angle to the left from the street. This was going to take a bit of calculation, skill, and, admittedly, luck to pull off.

Although Wedge was a conscripted soldier, he had excellent academic credentials, gaining him better admissions into the ranks of officers than his counterpart, Biggs. Among them included high school physics and mathematics, in which Wedge graduated with high marks across the board. Already, as he began to manipulate levers swiftly, his hands and finger dancing across the cockpit of the MagiTek armor like a pianist before a piano, he was calculating, putting value and value together. To achieve firing conditions of the MagiTek armor's beam weapon, the reactor, designed separately specifically for the beam cannon, needed a charge of approximately eight hundred terawatts. The reactor specs, if Wedge remembered correctly, needed approximately three seconds to build up such a charge, but, as Wedge looked at the thermometer, saw the temperature was about five degrees below zero, and calculated the effects that would on a two-megajoule reactor, he decided that the actual firing of the weapon would be delayed to three point five seconds. The discharge itself would probably last for approximately four, maybe five, seconds. Recalling the MagiTek armor specs, he was also moreorless sure that the armor was capable of completing a complete three hundred sixty turn at twelve seconds. His firing vector was going to be only at sixty degrees, though, so, from his forty-five degree position, Wedge was going to have to complete a fifteen degree turn clockwise and continue that turn _just_ as the beam weapon fired. This meant, from his forty-five-degree position, Wedge was going to have to start turning the MagiTek armor _exactly_ three seconds after he keyed in the command for the reactor to start building the eight hundred terawatt charge.

The reason for all the seemingly-needless calculations, Wedge reminded himself as he finally keyed in the command for the reactor to charge and watched the chronometer on his control panel, was because the physics of magically-powered plasma could be quite troublesome sometimes. The beam itself created a controlled, contained, and small-scale molecule-splicing reaction that was completely reliant on its nearby molecular influence. The beam, when fired, practically _clung_ onto the nearby molecules within its immediate heat zone, and, with the cannon as its direct catalyst, it was difficult to move when firing. If Wedge tried to fire the magical plasma beam before turning, the beams hold on the molecules would've rooted the MagiTek armor in place, refusing to let it move or turn until the cannon finished its discharge and the beam dissipated. And Wedge was going for mass effect.

Wedge had double-checked his calculation a second time, a useless gesture, seeing how he had already keyed in the command to fire, when his chronometer hit there. Instantly, his hand cranked a lever to the right, and the heavy mechanical beast began to turn towards the middle of the street.

The beam fired prematurely by zero-point-one seconds; Wedge had, apparently, underestimated the reactor's ability to perform in the cold. Regardless, the beam had fired about twelve degrees into the turn, which was, Wedge decided, an acceptable error margin. The three degree error margin was of little consequence, especially when his targets were, on an average, just shy of fifty meters away; the margin by which Wedged had missed from his intended target could be measured with a yardstick.

Even above the high-pitched scream of the angry-red energy beam, Wedge could hear the whine and groan of the MagiTek armor as it struggled against its energy bonds to turn, the beam attempting to anchor the MagiTek armor in place, stress on the metallic components of the war machine as it attempt to turn. Regardless, the beam itself was destructive even as Wedge managed to wrestle against the controls of the MagiTek armor, turning it to draw a bright, burning line with his beam against the backdrop of Narshe. The surge, powerful, shuddered the armor itself even as it fired, disassembling the nearby molecules, and threatening to do the same with the MagiTek armor as well. The beam easily burnt through the wooden and stone walls of Narshe's buildings, burning the materials with a well-placed beam of fire, tearing a hole through them as it easily burned flesh asunder. Unlike the lightning beam that Terra had fired earlier, meant for quick, surgical, explosive strikes against targets, the fire beam was much more rampant, simply choosing to burn everything in its path.

The first militiaman to be hit by the beam, having taken cover behind a wooden wall, had his flesh flash-boiled as the beam ripped through his torso, and he had fallen into shock and death so fast he did not have time to scream. The second lasted just a bit longer; the pile of stones he had laid himself on absorbed the heat only slightly better than the wood, but, eventually, the heat was too much, and it simply blasted away the man's upper body. He, unlike his partner, had time to scream, although it was probably due to the realization that he was _about_ to be hit, rather than the realization of the pain _upon_ being hit. The third militiaman tried to outrun the beam, for some reason, jumping out from behind his cover, a small boulder, at the last second and trying to run on the slippery snow…before the beam caught up, and his shade disappeared into the light.

The beam, contrary to Wedge's hopes, did not reach sixty degrees, merely going for about forty-five degrees. The beam flickered twice before it began to decrease in width, drawing a single, thin line across the air before disappearing completely, leaving only a burning, gaping line where the beam had struck earlier, charred black, glowing white. _Again_, Wedge thought, _acceptable._ Although he had not swept most of the street, three of the militiamen in the rear were now down and out, and, although Wedge was sure there were just a few more militiamen in hiding around the corner, the harassing fire from the rear had stopped. Satisfied, Wedge proceeded to walk backwards with his MagiTek armor, a task harder than most rookie pilots would imagine, sweeping the area once with his eyes, before, convinced the militiamen were not going to be of any trouble anymore, turned his MagiTek around, then proceeded to walk down the street once more. Already, having spent just shy of half a minute on the militiamen, Wedge had turned back to see that both Terra and Biggs had already advanced far down the street without him. In fact, the area they were in was no longer really a street, but more like a path. Right in front of them was the mine entrance, supposedly to shaft thirteen, if their intel was correct.

"Rear seems clear," Wedge spoke over the radio, opening a link to Biggs, "How about up front? Any trouble?"

"Sounds like you really went wild back there," Biggs' amusement was difficult not to detect even over the radio, "We're pretty clear up here as well."

The two MagiTek armors stopped just in front of the mines, waiting for Wedge to catch up. As Wedge got closer to the mine entrance, he noticed that it was much larger and grander than he imagined. Although the arch was rugged and cracked, looking as if it was the residence of some giant rat, the cave entrance could just fit two MagiTek armors side-by-side, and although the darkness inside was only lit by dim lamps, torches, and electric lights, limiting their view into the mines, the initial impression was that the mines would only get larger as they went in. Wedge had to admire the view for a moment, looking at the mine entrance as if it led into the mouth of a giant beast.

"Pretty awesome, huh?" Biggs laughed, his MagiTek close enough to Wedge's own for them to communicate without the radio.

Wedge seemed to silently agree. "According to our source in Figaro," Wedge seemed more enthusiastic to get straight to business, "they unearthed the frozen Esper in a new mine shaft they were digging. There've got to be some signs around here that…" Wedge paused, observed the rocks that made up the entrance of the mine, noted that the angles of the drilled rocks were still sharp and acute, not worn and smooth from the longtime sheer of snowy, blizzard winds that would erode it over time, and quickly read a number written on a sign just right of the entrance. It read "13".

"Think this is it?" Biggs looked at Wedge inquisitively, noting his pause and sudden keen interest on the surrounings.

"This must be it," Wedge whispered with a nod, deciding that all of the circumstances checked out with the intel, "This area here shows no sign of wear and tear, no corrosion, no erosion. This has to be a new mine shaft. Witch, take point. Biggs, follow up behind; I've got the rear."

The formation proceeded into the mines, and both Biggs and Wedge were rightfully glad that they had finally trudged on in; gone was the snow, the biting winds, the freezing cold. By all rights, the mines were cold as well, but at least it was much warmer than the winters outside. In here, torches and lamps lit the way with dim fires, providing a semblance of heat as the MagiTek armors marched on through the path, following the hastily-laid mine cart tracks that led deeper into the mines. Every now and then, a large mine cart blocked the way, and Terra, ordered by Wedge, blasted it to cinders with a well-placed missile, but, otherwise, there were surprisingly few encounters. The silhouettes of the armors were cast off onto multiple walls, flickering as the flames danced in the mines.

"Damn," Biggs muttered, continuing to move his MagiTek armor in between Terra's and Wedge's, "Kind of cramped in here. A nutjob with a RPG and decent luck could do some real serious damage in these mines. Kind of makes you wonder if they've set up another ambush in here."

"I don't think so," Wedge admitted, "Who knows what else is here in these mines other than coal. One wrong shot, and they might blow the place to kingdom come. They're probably a lot more careful than that. We should go weapons safe as well." Wedge quickly flicked a few switches on his control panel, quickly engaging the safety for his chain gun, missiles, and beam cannons. He left the gas canisters on standby, but he decided that it would be best not to fire them; in enclosed spaces, there was absolutely no guarantee that the gas would stay below twelve feet. One wrong move, and they'd be just as quick to poison themselves as they would their adversaries. Another flick of a switch, and the gas canister launcher went offline as well.

Two hundred meters into the shaft met an incline in the ground as the mine began to seep downwards at a twenty-degree angle. The MagiTek armors' gyroscopes quickly began to spin to maintain balance for the cumbersome machine. Trudging on, and careful not to go too fast lest they tip the MagiTek armors over, they continued silently down the path, quietly, warily, nervously waiting for an ambush that did not come. Every once and a while, Wedge would turn his MagiTek armor around to give him a look back, see if there was anyone following them, preparing to ambush them in such confined spaces, where they had much more of a disadvantage. Every time, Wedge flinched as he saw moving silhouettes behind him, only to realize that they were the flickering shadows of his MagiTek armor.

"Wedge, ahead." Biggs voice had brought Wedge's head snapping towards the direction of the front while he was looking back, but, in slight embarrassment, realized that Biggs' voice had been far too calm and casual for it to have been a threat alert. Wedge focused his eyes on what was ahead of him, peering ahead of both Biggs' and Terra's MagiTek armor, and discovered that the path ahead had been barricaded with what seemed to be a makeshift wall forged out of wooden. Bolted together by metal strips, Wedge could tell that, even at first sight, it was going to be pretty heavy.

"The wood looks pretty new," Biggs remarked, standing just behind Terra, close enough to get a good look at the wall, "The wall doesn't show signs of wear and tear; the shaft was sealed recently. There's a good chance the Esper's here."

Wedge agreed with Biggs' assessment as he began to look around. "Do you see any mechanisms around here?" Wedge asked, Anything to open this wall with? It looks like it might be some sort of gate or something, if…"

"Nah," Biggs shook his head, "Whatever's behind there, they probably wanted to seal it indefinitely. This thing doesn't look like it's meant to open. We might as well blow it to pieces."

"Negative," Wedge quickly rectified, "Weapons safe. No weapons underground here. I don't trust this mine not to cave in on us if we try anything too forceful. I think it might be a better idea to simply crash a hole in this wall."

"That doesn't sound like a much better plan," Biggs remarked dryly.

Wedge permitted himself a chuckle. "Better than firing missiles and beams at it."

Biggs paused for just a moment, thinking it over, then conceded, "Point. I'll handle this, then; my armor is already damaged; no point in getting anyone else's wrecked up. Stand back."

"Roger," Wedge confirmed, figuring that Biggs' decision made sense, "It's all yours. Witch, pull back."

The two MagiTek armors in front of Wedge slowly began to change places as Terra and Biggs attempted to maneuver their MagiTek armors in a clockwise direction. It took at least a minute to simply switch; the space was cramped, and MagiTek armors were not known for their speed. Biggs scraped the cave walls twice, and Wedge cringed each time he did it; the roof of the mine would tremble just slightly as dust fell from above. He really flinched when Biggs and Terra scraped their MagiTek armors together, creating a metallic screeching sound that sounded akin to someone scratching their fingernails across a blackboard. In the end, though, they did manage to switch, with Terra in the middle of the formation and Biggs at fore.

Turning his MagiTek armor to face the wooden wall, Biggs quickly keyed in a few commands that changed his reactor limits to one hundred and fifty percent. The audible growl of the MagiTek armor's engines began to grow louder in the cave as Biggs fed more power to the engine, increasing its power output. It was generally not a recommended maneuver unless in an emergency, but Biggs needed some semblance of speed for this matter, and it was not like MagiTek armor was fast to begin with. Even at a run, MagiTek armor could only achieve a speed of ten kilometers an hour, and it would be an unstable run at that. MagiTek armors were designed for adaptability on terrain with two legs, but not necessarily speed, not when the MagiTek armor could just as easily trip over and crash onto the ground.

The engines reached the apex of their growl, and, as Biggs charged, Wedge realized absentmindedly just how idiotic the plan must've been. Even as Biggs' MagiTek armor charged, each footstep brought horrible tremors as the entire mine rumbled, sending dust and dirt falling from the roof. Wedge was suddenly very self-conscious, afraid that, with each footstep, the entire mine would crack and bring the hole canyon crashing down on them. He was sure it was going to happen when Biggs slammed a twenty tall, sixty ton MagiTek armor into the wall, producing a loud _crack_…

Bigg's MagiTek armor moreorless crushed the vast majority of the wall into splinters as the MagiTek armor made contact with the wooden obstacle, creating a massive crack in the wall before it gave way, and thousands of tiny fragments blew into the air, allowing Biggs' MagiTek armor to simply pave the way…

…And suddenly disappear into the darkness.

The armor had, moreorless, disappeared as it chose to be engulfed in the darkness. In the darkness, it almost looked like Biggs had teleported away, but upon closer observation, Wedge decided that it looked more like Biggs had jumped onto some trapdoor, and fell through. He managed to hear a surprised yelp from Biggs before things fell silent.

"Biggs!" Wedge shouted into the radio, immediately concerned about his comrade-in-arms, yet not blindly rushing ahead to meet whatever fate had descended upon Biggs. Comradeship was important, but so was getting the job done.

Wedge's radio crackled just a little. The signal was faint, broken up, possibly by either the constricted space in the mines or the magnetic interference of the minerals here. Regardless, Wedge managed to catch a few words from Biggs, something along the lines of "fine", "safe", and "damaged". Then the radio went silent.

"To the side, Witch," Wedge ordered as he moved his MagiTek armor forward, staying on the right side as Terra moved her own armor to the left. While putting Terra on point would've been that much safer, Wedge decided that whatever that had been, he wanted to see for himself. He and Terra synchronized well; in little time, Wedge had moved past Terra without putting a scratch on either of their armors, nor did they hit any walls or roofs. Instead, it was as it should be. Wedge brushed right past, and as soon as that happened, Terra simply turned her MagiTek armor around and followed suit, just ten feet behind Wedge.

Upon closer inspection of the hole Biggs had torn into the wooden wall, Wedge immediately saw what had happened. The terrain had tilted another ten degree downwards, providing a thirty-degree slide for Biggs' MagiTek armor to tumble down as he ran onto it at ten kilometers per hour. The fact that there were some loose pebbles and rocks on the ground obviously did not help things. Nasty cracks and holes in the tunnel, barely visible in the darkness, were the scars of the tunnel, undoubtedly created when Biggs' MagiTek armor attempted to claw onto something to regain his balance. Under normal conditions, the terrain was open to navigation, albeit with some caution. However, Biggs had charged onto the terrain with no idea what it was at high speeds.

Wedge had already begun to place limits on his speed, keying in the parameters, as he maneuvered his MagiTek armor into the tunnel. "Witch," he comanded, "Stay close." Terra did as she was ordered, tailing Wedge as he guided the MagiTek armor down the tunnel. For the most part, the trip was rather smooth. Unstable rocks under the feet of the MagiTek armors worried Wedge some, and, every once in a while, Wedge's MagiTek armor would slid a few meters as the path below him gave way. Every time it did that, Wedge's heart gave a lurch, the uncomfortable gut feeling that he had when he was balancing precariously on two legs of a chair, as he prayed that the gyroscopes in the MagiTek armor did their jobs and pulled several levers that dug the claws of the MagiTek armor's feet into the ground, entrenching them to prevent further sliding. Despite this, Wedge was rather pleased with his progress...until he noticed that Terra was calmly walking down the tunnel, as if she was taking a stroll, rather than attempting to bring a twenty-feet metallic gargoyle down an unstable path. _Bitch_, Wedge thought to himself in a moment of spite, not sure what ignited such a comment in his mind.

Wedge and Terra finally reached the bottom of the tunnel as the gyroscopes, lit by a dim lamp on the control panel, indicated that there was no further incline in terrain. In fact, it was perfectly flat. In front of them was a chamber, a cave, that was rather well-lit, and the first thing Wedge noticed was Biggs' MagiTek armor. There were skid marks trailing where Biggs' MagiTek armor had landed unceremoniously. Undoubtedly, Biggs was not able to keep the balance, and it slipped, tripped, and fell onto its side, crashing into the ground. Wedge immediately felt a pang of concern, wondering if anything had happened to Biggs; death in a MagiTek armor crash was not common, but not unheard of either. But he blew a sigh of relief as he saw that Biggs was standing on the ground, out of the MagiTek armor's cockpit as he looked at it. As soon as Wedge and Terra had come into the chamber, he lifted his head to look at them. Wedge noticed that the reactor of Biggs' MagiTek armor was silent, not making any sound.

"I think I rattled the gears pretty hard," Biggs admitted sheepishly, tilting his head towards the prone MagiTek armor, some heat leaking through the cracks and gaps in the metallic plates in the form of steam, "It seems inoperable."

Wedge blew some breath past his lips; under more casual circumstances, it would've constituted as a sigh. "Arsenal is going to be pissed when they hear we didn't come back with one," Wedge muttered.

"Oh, we'll be fine," Biggs shrugged dismissively, the cocked a thumb over his shoulder towards the far end of the room, "Feast your eyes on that."

Wedge's eyes followed Biggs' thumb, and, immediately, he drew a breath as his eyes widened. Further into the cave, at the far end, lay what reminded Biggs of a glacier, a large chunk of ice as big as the MagiTek armor itself. Wedge immediately went for a closer look, piloting his MagiTek armor forward, beckoning Terra to follow. Biggs walked beside Wedge's MagiTek armor, wanting to get a front-row view himself. When they had got within fifteen feet, details became much more obvious. Despite the fact that it was no longer freezing cold in the cave, the ice had not melted, not a bit. The ground was not wet, indicating that not a drop of water had come down from the ice.

What truly was amazing, however, was the Esper inside. When Wedge had heard that they were to procure a frozen Esper, they had assumed that they would be attempting to extract the Esper's fossil. Yet, as he looked into the glassy ice into the specimen encased inside, Wedge realized that this was most certainly not the case. The Esper had been perfectly preserved, possibly having spent centuries, if not more than a thousand years, encased in ice, where it was perfectly protected from whatever decomposed corpses. The Esper inside, Wedge thought, looked like a mix between a dragon and a phoenix. Its main body was scaly, the elongated body clearly showing traits of a lizard, and four talons to boot. However, at the same time, it possessed wings that were undoubtedly composed of feathers, and its entire body looked like a rainbow, multi-colored. If that wasn't intimidating enough, the Esper seemed not much smaller than the MagiTek armor itself…and the Esper's body was, at the moment, coiled. Even frozen, Wedge felt threatened by the mere presence of the Esper.

Even Biggs seemed mightily impressed, staring at the specimen in awe. "This..." he whispered, walking closer at a slow pace, as if he wanted to reach out to touch it, yet making sure he was at a safe distance, fifteen feet, "So…this is the frozen Esper?"

"Amazing…" Wedge breathed, looking at the Esper from a higher viewpoint, from the cockpit of his MagiTek armor, and shivered a bit, muttered, "…Damn, this thing is giving me the creeps."

Biggs managed a small laugh. "You and me both," Biggs admitted without much conviction, but before he could finish the sentence, there was a series of thuds behind him. Biggs turned around just in time to see a MagiTek armor lumber past him, walking towards the Esper with her MagiTek armor. Biggs flinched at that; it was hard not to when twenty-feet of bipedal metal tank was walking right by you in very close proximity. Which confused Biggs immensely; he had not heard Wedge give Terra the order to move up. Wedge immediately spoke up, confirming Biggs' confusion.

"Witch," Wedge said loudly enough to not use the radio, "You were not given orders to advance. Pull back…" Wedge paused for a just a few seconds, frowned as he realized Terra wasn't responding, now standing just several feet from the frozen Esper, "...Witch, did you hear me? Pull back, now..." the furrow on Wedge's brow entrenched themselves deeper into his expression as he swore, "…Dammit, something's not right…"

It was just then that Wedge realized that something, aside from Terra's behavior, was indeed wrong. The tunnel had been dark, yet the mines before it had been lit with torches. When Wedge had made it through the tunnel and rendezvoused with Biggs in the chamber they were in now, the chamber was bright, and Wedge had merely presumed they were from the torches. Now, however, as he looked around, he realized that, although the chamber was indeed lit…yet he could not see any torches, any lamps, from which light could originate from.

"Something is wrong," Wedge whispered, but in the silence, even Biggs, below him, could hear him, "Something is very wrong. Where the hell is that light coming from?"

Then Wedge's gaze returned to the Witch and the Esper as the light around them began to dim, then brighten again, then dim, only to proceed through the pattern again. The ice itself was glowing a brilliant blue, the Esper's body now nothing but a silhouette in the intense light. Wedge had to squint to look at the Esper, and the silhouette of Terra's MagiTek armor just in front. This was definitely not within mission parameters.

"Biggs," Wedge called out to the Imperial soldier on the ground, "Mission abort. Repeat, mission abort. We're getting out of..."

Wedge never got to finish that sentence.

Biggs almost missed it. He had been squinting against both the light and the silhouette of Terra, which was being threatened as the light seemed to be poised to engulf it whole. The intense light had almost hid the purple streak of a lightning bolt that streaked from the ice towards somewhere behind him. "What was that!?" Biggs exclaimed just as he barely registered the bolt of lightning…until he heard Wedge's scream, a terrifying scream that sounded too much like an animal for Biggs to first assume it was Wedge. However, the possibility soon occurred to Biggs, and, in his worry, he quickly turned around to look at where Wedge had been before, only to find that the cave behind him was completely empty. No sign of a MagiTek armor, an Imperial soldier, or an explosion of any kind. Biggs immediately turned his entire body around to look around in fright, his eyes wide despite the light.

"Wedge?" he called out, his voice uncertain and wavering, now thoroughly terrified, the panic truly rising as he realized that he was quite alone, "Don't play games with me, Wedge! Where the hell are you? What the hell is going…"

Only the gods could ascertain if Biggs met a better fate than Wedge. When a second lightning bolt had struck him from the rear, Biggs had missed it completely. There was no scream, no dying cry. There was only the lightning, a flash of light…and Biggs, like Wedge, simply winked out of existence.

Leaving only Terra…and the Esper.

Terra had been entirely silent during the whole ordeal, her blank, soulless eyes never leaving the Esper, not even as the light burned into her eyes, the silhouette of the Esper being branded into the back of her mind. The Esper, frozen in the ice, seemed to stare right back at her. Somehow, the two most unlikely candidates of the entire affair that had been in the room for the past five minutes began a surreal bonding, one a frozen Esper, the other a near-comatose girl. If anything, the fates certainly appreciated irony.

For the Esper, its frozen eyes boring into Terra's own, it seemed to attempt some form of communication with Terra…quietly probing into her, yet realizing that she was not responding, no form of reply of any sort from her, despite its initial success in bringing her forward. Unlike the other two humans, whom the Esper had gotten rid of quickly, the Esper _knew_ Terra was special, that Terra wasn't one of _them_. There was hope in this one…if only it could figure out why Terra wasn't responding.

The glow around the two of them continued to pulsate, like waves of light bouncing back and forth, containing whatever thoughts could possibly be transmitted. There was a final flash of light from the ice, a bolt of purple lightning connecting Terra with the Esper, swallowing them all in the intense light…

And the nothingness welcomed them all.

* * *

Author's Note: The start of this chapter, for those who may or may not have noticed, was written with all the avid enthusiasm of an Ace Combat fan. Granted, I had to take many liberties, seeing how an Imperial sky armor will never become a F-22A no matter how hard I try, but, for the most part, I think I did pretty well, considering the technological state of Final Fantasy VI; hopefully, I portrayed the sky armors realistically enough in this department. 

The introduction of submachine guns in the story was inspired mostly by the ending FMV of Final Fantasy VI in Anthology for the Playstation, where the Narshe militia had attempted to use them against the MagiTek armors before being blown away. I know this may seem strange to players who aren't expecting this kind of technology in Final Fantasy VI, but I feel it's justified; chain guns definitely exist in the world of VI, and, theoretically, it works a lot easier than an automatic crossbow. Besides, it opens a whole lot of different possibilities for me. Don't worry, though; I won't take it too far. We won't be seeing M16s or MP5s being passed around the story.

What is perhaps the most apparent change in this chapter was my decision not to include the battle against the whelk in the mines of Narshe. This was mostly due to three reasons, the first being that I was never extraordinarily good at battle scenes (political intrigue is something a bit more of my forte), and I was feeling lazy (admittedly, my computer had crashed badly, and I was doing something of a rush-job near the end). The third, however, was that I felt there wasn't really any real reason I should include the battle. It did not compel the story, it did not advance it. In fact, I did find it silly that the MagiTek trio went all weapons free into the mines; obviously, they were rather unconcerned with the possibility of bringing the mines crashing down upon them. If I didn't know better, the lightning whelk was merely there so we could at least have one boss battle early in the game, to give us a proper feel of the battle system. To me, the whelk was irrelevant, so I didn't include it.

Also to be noticed is that I am using not only the lines from the original Super Nintendo version of Final Fantasy VI, but also the lines from Final Fantasy VI Advance for the GBA. I will continue to do that, alternating between the lines, depending on what I feel suit the situation, and which lines are better.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two  
The Girl Without Memories**

General Celes Chere suppressed a sigh as she quickly scanned over the reports of the Fifth Army. Needless to say, it wasn't encouraging. She had raised her objections before, but the fact that the Imperial Army was spreading itself needlessly thin seemed to fall upon deaf ears. Already, the Fifth Army had been placed under her command, the Third Army under General Leo Cristophe. She did not enjoy the prospect of fighting a war on two fronts on two different continents, not with the numbers she was being provided. Furthermore, it was already October the twenty-fourth; considering that all preparations were supposed to have finished in shy of just a week, they were behind schedule. Celes had her officers to thank for that; she had had problems with them since Day One.

The Fifth Army, suffice to say, was undermanned. By "army", it meant that her battlegroup in her theater of operations was supposed to have amounted to somewhere around fifty thousand, if not sixty thousand, soldiers, five or six divisions. She received only thirty-five thousand, a bit more than what were usually three divisions and far less for what was expected of an army-strength battlegroup, with a vague promise that there was an informant in the city that would provide valuable intel. The supply lines from Vector to Albrook was still weak, having only been established, and Celes was still at a lack of weapons and equipment. A sword, pistol sidearm, and several fragmentation grenades was the standard armament of the standard Imperial infantrymen, armaments that most of the Fifth Army was still lacking in. Despite Vector's factories and advanced technology, the Empire could not possibly provide firearms to every soldier, and most of the military funding was going to MagiTek research anyways. There only have one corps of MagiTek armors so far, as opposed to the promised three.

Celes was both very similar and much different than the girl she had been ten years ago when she first met Terra, an event that she could recall only with the vaguest of details. Puberty had been kinder to Celes than it had to Terra, giving her full-bodied features and assets, smooth curves that were not suppressed despite years of training and physical abuse. She was not only as tough as they come; she was a beauty on the battlefield, a pale, lithe, blond warrior who danced across the battlefield with an icy demeanor that won her the nickname the "White Queen" amongst her men, the "Blizzard Knight" amongst the conquered. Her eyes, sharp and contemplative, as blue and deep as the oceans themselves, were excellently complimented by long, wavy blond hair, down to her waists, adorned with a crystal blue tiara around her forehead. Favoring mobility, she chose a custom short-cut green jumpsuit as he attire of choice, accompanied by white gloves and boots, an obvious indicator of high rank. Created originally for pilots of the IAF, the simple jumpsuit, exposing her arms and legs, permitted quite a bit of mobility and was resistant to both cold and heat. The jumpsuit was not only capable of deflecting light-caliber rounds, it was also slightly magic resistant, perfect in magic warfare.

Not that she needed magic insulators; the Empire was the only army that utilized magic for combat.

"I am aware," Celes stated clearly, with a slight chilly edge in her voice, as she addressed her direct subordinates, "that the rations for our army were supposed to have been delivered three days ago. When I inquired, I was told that you were on to it. You said the rations would arrive in two days. Yesterday, when the rations were supposed to arrive, I inquired again. You said you'd look into it. It's the third day since the rations have been late. What's going on?"

Her subordinates, a mix of half a dozen colonels and majors, glanced at each other uncomfortably in silence for several seconds. Undoubtedly, Celes knew, they were trying to figure out whom to blame this on, and how. The group was gathered around Celes' desk in the captain's quarters of the Imperial destroyer _Vigilant_, the command vessel of the Third Army, second only to the flagship of the fleet _Neptune_, part of the Second Naval Battlegroup. The room wasn't overly large, only three meters by three, as battleships were built with little accommodating space, more for utility than comfort. It was, however, the largest in-door room in the entire ship with some measure of privacy, so it was there they congregated. The room itself was rather bare; only a bed, a desk, and a bookshelf kept Celes company, but she did not mind. There have been times were caves were a rarity, trees were a distant hope, and rooms were unheard of, the nearest one being at least five hundred miles away. Survival training at the age of fourteen helped her cope with the lack of luxury.

The _Vigilant_ was stationed approximately a mile off the ports of Albrook, anchored down to ensure that the ship stayed there. Already, Imperial ships of the First and Second Naval Battlegroups were crowding out the ports, especially those which needed to store up on supplies and rations. The entire port had been cordoned off by order of the Emperor, and only Imperial military vessels, priority given to military ships with an empty cargo hold, were the only ships that stood a chance of hooking up to the ports. The _Vigilant_ was a mile away to ensure that they would not take up valuable space.

Colonel Samuel Whitaker spoke first, clearing his throat as he did. He was a gruff, belligerent young senior office, an _infans militis_. While he had much experience in the field and was reasonably intelligent, he was also far too aggressive, arrogant, and petty for Celes' to be comfortable with, and it wasn't any secret that he would've preferred to be in the Third Army than the Fifth. His actions and attitude towards Celes were borderline insubordination. Celes knew that there was one colonel and two majors in the room who did not approve of Celes, a general who happened to be a woman years younger than they, being their direct superior; Whitaker was the head of that little faction, one that had been giving her far too much trouble, in her opinion.

"The supply lines between Vector and Albrook have not been completely established," Whitaker said, sounding defensive, for his ground forces were supposed to be helping in clearing the path, "Although our reserve forces are currently…"

"I've heard that excuse three days ago," Celes interrupted tersely, unimpressed, "Does anyone have a more constructive alibi?"

Whitaker shot a withering, hateful glare at Celes at the obvious rebuke, but no one really bothered to look his way; that Whitaker hated Celes was something taken for granted, and no one really actually needed to look at his face to tell Whitaker was shooting an unpleasant stare at their general. Most of the enlisted and the NCOs, non-commissioned officers, appreciated and respected Celes, if not liked her. Undoubtedly, the rank and file were quite glad that generals, too, led their armies into battle instead of merely second-guessing a campaign from an armchair. Most of the officers, however, had a completely different mentality. Used to the luxuries of leadership, they did not give a damn as to whether or not Celes led the army into battle personally; the political power struggles were what was important to them, and most of them weren't entertained by an eighteen-year-old female general lording them around.

Evidently, Colonel Chad Woodling decided that some face-saving for Colonel Whitaker was in order. "General, if I may," he said simply, "It is my understanding that the Second Army, having just returned from Tzen to Vector, swapping posts with the Fourth Army, has become the main focus of resupplying efforts. We did not have such a problem when we received orders to rendezvous in Albrook after our campaign in Maranda, but Tzen utilized scorched earth strategies during the Second Army's campaign, and they have been hard-pressed enough to require the Fourth Army to take their posts instead. Although the supply lines are indeed a large factor, we also have to consider that our factories and farms cannot produce supplies and rations for two armies, never mind three, with any appreciable rate of speed."

Celes looked neutrally at Chad, who looked back in the same manner. Out of her senior staff, Celes had learned to appreciate the neutral, taciturn, low-profile Chad the most. A quiet officer whose loyalties were not with any commanding officer, but the Empire as a whole, Chad could be counted on for his loyalty and his tendency to stay out of the chickenshit power struggles that the upper echelons of the Imperial Army were so infamous for. Chad was the military intelligence officer attached to the Fifth Army; although not part of the legendary Imperial Intelligence, or the Double-Eye, Chad had friends looking out for him in the clandestine agency, who exchanged information with him, and he was quite comfortable where he was. Chad had limited battlefield experience, but was familiar with leadership positions in small-scale black ops.

"How long do you think until we can finish resupply operations, then?" Celes inquired, figuring that, if she was going to get anything constructive from this question, it would be from Chad.

Chad paused just for a few seconds, deep in thought, then promised, "It is my belief that the Third Army will have finished all resupply operations and continue its deployment with the Second Naval Battlegroup in less than one week, ma'am. At the very most, we will set sail at the end of the month."

_Not a very optimistic analysis_, Celes noted, but moreorless appreciated that Chad used "my", an indicator that he was moreorless willing to take responsibility for this. "That's still behind schedule," Celes noted coolly, "Our orders were to deploy in two days."

Chad nodded, seemed pretty calm about it. _Too calm_, Celes noted, and was suddenly aware that she would not be surprised if Chad was a member of some much larger conspiracy. "I have some contacts in the Double-Eye close to the Emperor and his staff," Chad shrugged, "I'll do what I can to convince them we need the time, but I'm afraid there are no promises, General."

"Not to cover for my superiors, General, but…" Major Neil Horton added, unasked, which pretty much meant he _was_ covering for his superiors, "…the real problem is with the Second Army moving back to Vector, prompting a reprioritization of the supply teams back home. It has little to do with supply lines or our own Fifth Army."

Celes sighed, brushed aside several stray strands of hair that managed to get into her face. "Very well," Celes muttered, deciding a concession was in order to appease her officers, particularly Samuel Whitaker, and save some face, "What's next on the list?"

"General, if I may," Chad again, and Celes actually found herself a bit annoyed at Chad's interruption, "I have word from Imperial Intelligence that they are in the process of conducting a black-op in Narshe, supervised directly by Court Mage Kefka Palazzo in a joint venture with the Double-Eye, codename Operation: Deep Miner. I was instructed to inform this staff of such, and that we have standing orders to exercise military force against Narshe in case Operation: Deep Miner is a failure."

"Which means," Celes commented dryly, "we will have to split the Third Army even further. We might as well annex the entire continent while we're at it. I suppose we won't have any reinforcements in that regard?"

Colonel Jacob Robinson, a bookish, accountant-type commanding officer, quickly conjured an unnecessarily thick stack of papers from his hand. "The situation seems to stand as it has been for a while, aside from the shift between Second and Fourth Armies, ma'am," Jacob responded, "With the Second Army now in Vector, they and the First Army are now on garrison duty in Vector. The First Army is on standby status, while the Second Army is resupplying. Although it would've been appreciated if the First Army were mobilized with us, the First Army has not marched from Vector for the past decade, and I do not see why it would happen now. The Fourth Army is now in Tzen, several of our regiments remain in Maranda, the Sixth have been keeping on station in Albrook for a while now. The Seventh Army has yet to be activated, so…" Jacob trailed off, leaving Celes to fill in the blanks.

Celes sighed once more, pushed herself away from the desk she sat behind and stood, turned and walked toward the window, her back, shielded with a luxurious white cape, to her subordinates, which, she knew, would piss off at least three of them. Celes was careful about where she tread; on one hand, she didn't imagine that every infantryman of the Fifth Army was loyal to her. Many, like Samuel Whitaker and Neil Horton, wished it was an older male general, such as General Leo Cristophe, that was leading them, not _her_. On one hand, she could simply have her senior officers removed. But that would leave a large gap in the command chain, and her popularity amongst the enlisted would drop. And, frankly, she'd rather have _their_ loyalty than her officers'. It was the infantrymen that were fighting this war, not the colonels and major assembled in the room. On the other hand, she _did_ need to keep them in line.

"People," Celes said, looking out the window of the captain's quarters as she stared out to the blue horizon, ocean as far as she could see, "we are fighting a war here. There _will_ be people out there fighting and dying. We're not playing a game here; we need every kind of advantage we have. I understand resupply efforts aren't exactly fluent, and that we only have three divisions instead of four or five. This, however, only means we're going to have to redouble our efforts. We're going to be fighting overseas, and trust me when I say supply lines between two continents are going to be much harder than whatever problems we're having here right now. We're going to be spread incredibly thin at this rate, so the last thing I want is for us to assume we're just going to move in for a complete, suppressive victory."

"The Third Army is going to move in under the near-same conditions as we are," Samuel stated bluntly; to Celes, he might as well have stated "you can't accomplish what General Leo Cristophe can".

"The Third Army is also only moving against one enemy, the Kingdom of Doma," Jacob countered immediately, not appreciating Samuel's attitude towards their general, "while we're quite likely to assault and occupy two targets distant from each other on the Northwestern Continent. Not to mention they were the first to receive resupplying efforts, _before_ the Second Army returned to Vector."

Samuel opened his mouth, prepared to say something in retort, but he was cut off before he could even start. "Colonel Whitaker," Celes said without turning her back to face the Colonel, but no one could mistake the frosty edge in her voice for anything else, "When you address a superior officer, you say 'sir', 'ma'am', or 'general'."

The casual shifting of weight and changing of body postures of the officers behind Celes, a subtle sign of awkward movement, was enough a sign for Samuel to realize that the remark had stung. Doing his best to prevent his face from going red with embarrassment and rage, and refraining from reaching out to strike at the general before her, Colonel Whitaker said in a quiet, tight voice that was obviously strained to keep a scowl out, "Yes, _General_."

Celes turned around to face her council of war once more. "Back to the subject at hand," Celes said simply, "Supplies and rations aside. How do we stand?"

"Major Pascal has the preliminary analysis of the status of our divisions, ma'am," Chad assured, "Major?"

A slightly-lower ranking officer in the room stepped forth, his hands, not unlike Jacob's, also full of papers. Not for the first time, Celes wondered exasperatedly if her subordinates only knew how to be accountants, warlords, or spies. "General," Major Oliver Pascal saluted first before delivering his report, "As of the moment, we can be assured that the heavy weapons for this campaign, mostly amounting to mortars and MagiTek armors, have arrived and are loaded onto our ships. I have checked with our engineers, and they have promised they can be activated upon our landing. That is on the side of heavy weapons. The Fifth Army itself has all arrived in Albrook, with all personnel accounted for as of the twenty-third of October…" Jacob paused, then added, in a slightly uncomfortable tone, as if the insinuations of this bothered him, "…As per orders from above, the true target of our campaign has yet to be revealed. There have been rumors floating around despite our best efforts to simulate a campaign against Kohlingen. The rumors have proved to be insubstantial, however; the majority of our soldiers are not yet certain of our theater of operations, despite several simulated campaigns."

Celes nodded to Oliver, but her eyes wandered over to Chad, and that was signal enough for Chad to speak his part. "I've checked the roster with the Double-Eye and ran background checks with their departments, ma'am," Chad assured Celes, "A deep probe would be unconventional to accomplish within our allotted time. However, we are convinced that there are no soldiers in the Fifth Army with ties to Figaro. We can relax slightly with the slight promise that word should not leak out to the Figaroians."

"General, forgive me for saying, but…" interruption from Oliver, "…I am still against the concept of this campaign. Figaro is an allied kingdom, and we're about to launch an invasion against them. I understand that there is very little we can do about that, but my greatest concern is whether or not our soldiers, who may or may not have ties to Figaro, are comfortable with attacking an allied kingdom. And even if they are, we have conducted two simulated campaigns in Maranda so far, yet they have been assuming that our target is Kohlingen. This will become a logistics nightmare when we reveal that our target is South Figaro. Maranda has similarities to Kohlingen, yes, but less so with South Figaro. General, without further preparations, I'm not sure our divisions are prepared to launch an attack on South Figaro."

"It's the slight matter of flipping the map upside-down, Major Pascal," Major Ryan Dean sneered, sounding derisive enough, "Unless you insinuate your division is unable to do so?"

For a moment, Oliver and Ryan glared at each other venomously, and Jacob joined in on the hostilities, for when Ryan insulted Oliver's division, he was also insulting Colonel Jacob Robinson's, Oliver's direct superior. Celes felt a rising ire and an urge to flash-freeze everyone in this room; their chickenshit behavior was starting to get truly out of hand. Before Jacob could say anything in retaliation, though, Chad quickly said, "Major Dean, that will be enough."

Ryan seemed rather embarrassed, being lightly chastised by his own superior officer, and a moderate one at that; it was obvious that he held Chad in higher regard than Celes, whom he had expected to intervene instead of Chad. "My apologies, sir," Ryan muttered, "It won't happen again." Celes looked at Jacob and Oliver, whom she knew were moreorless supportive of Celes as their general, and saw them trying to not-so-successfully stifle a smug grin on their faces.

Celes sighed heavily, an obvious sign that she was exasperated, as she sat back down in her chair, and the colonels and majors took this as a cue to shut up and stand fast. She wanted to end this meeting on a good note, or, at least, as good a note as she could with these men, and that mostly amounted to momentarily pleasing both sides. By no means was she obliged to, but she was not stupid enough to not know she was also in a compromised position of leadership. "Major Dean has a point," Celes said simply, raising not just one eyebrow in the process, "Geographic similarities in a simulation are never perfect, each battlefield is different. The soldiers are going to have to learn how to adapt. We will, however, reveal the actual location and conduct emergency briefings in three days. This should give them a quick idea of what they're up against. And…" Celes looked at Chad coolly, expressionlessly, as if she was directing her next statement directly at him, "…if the Double-Eye's promises mean anything, we might have some valuable intel that will allow us to infiltrate the city with ease."

Chad nodded, a simple bob of the head, down and up. "That was what I have been informed, ma'am," Chad agreed.

Celes looked at the remaining corps of officers, her gaze icy and steely, looking upon them, expecting more out of them, and wondering how much more they could deliver as competent officers. "Are we all comfortable with this? The delayed informing of our forces and a third simulation here in Albrook?"

Slow, hesitant nods around the table were the answer to her question. "General," Major Horton quickly added to that, "As per orders, my men are ready to impose curfew in three days in preparation for our simulated invasion here in Albrook. We only await the final order."

"Very well, Major Horton. I'll keep you informed. And we can be certain that our forces will be ready for a simulated campaign in South Figaro at that time with any semblance of accuracy?" Celes seemed to direct that question towards Whitaker in particular.

"Of course, General." Whitaker didn't know if that was to be taken as a challenge or otherwise; his voice was, surprisingly, carefully neutral, a rarity for the belligerent officer.

Celes turned her head away, her gaze distant, as if she was thinking about something, staring at an ethereal plain only she could see, leaving her officers at a silent impasse. Finally, after a moment of awkward silence, Celes asked quietly, "Is there anything else we need to discuss here in this room?"

Jacob consulted his notes quickly. "Not that I'm informed of, General," Jacob replied. The other officers didn't seem inclined to speak either.

Celes nodded, not looking at any of his officers, said tiredly with a bit of finality, "Very well. Dismissed."

* * *

When Terra Branford awoke, she was not necessarily aware of such. Her mind had not registered the immediate fact that her eyes had opened, and, as this happened, her mind was almost completely blank. There was something in her mind that subconsciously told her that she did not actually know what this indicated, nor was she sure how to respond to that. So she simply lay there for the time being, gathering details and facets of her surroundings without realizing it. There was an awful lack of self-consciousness arising from Terra.

The first overwhelming detail was that it was comfortably warm. Terra wasn't sure why, but she derived more comfort from it than she would've normally imagined. Every once in a while, her body would give an involuntary shudder or shiver, and every time that happened, she would be slowly shaken more into awareness as the movements seemed to trigger more information from her mind, each action a catalyst to something. For now, though, she realized she was prone, warm, and covered in a blanket. Judging by the fact that there seemed to be another flickering source of heat, Terra deciding that a fire was burning…somewhere. She didn't turn her around to look from where she lay. She blinked several times rapidly as she fought against the roadblocks in her mind, trying to grasp for words that she, for some reason, did not know existed, and could not conjure. She, though, did not necessarily find that strange.

Terra blinked again, as if each moment would rid her of the fog clouding her brain. With some effort, she managed to squeeze out some words that she had been thinking about, yet could not form with her mind. Words such as "warmth", "room", and "bed" made it back to her slowly, her vocabulary coming to her head in a step-by-step fashion. The mental pathways began to interlace once again, as if something had ruined a spiderweb before, and the spider was now weaving everything from scratch to create a new image.

It was several minutes afterwards that Terra felt confident enough, felt assured that her brain seemed to work in the way it should've worked. She tried to feel her arms, move them slightly, but she could not. Frowning slightly, then realizing that the mere motion of frowning seemed quite alien to her, tried to frown again. Her brow furrowed repeatedly, finding the motion uncomfortable, but the more she did it, the more she felt that it was familiar, like an old friend separated ages ago. The same went with her arms; every time she tried to move them, they only responded reluctantly, but as she continued to think, continued to try moving her arms, they responded ever more fluently. When her arms finally decided to be completely obedient again, Terra slowly pushed herself to an upright sitting position on the bed. Looking around, she noticed many details around her. The room itself seemed to be crafted out of wood, and, judging by the presence of a cupboard, a carpet, a jar of flowers, a chair, a table with a finished meal on it, and, obviously, a bed, she assumed that it was a…

_A…a…_ Terra struggled with herself, her mind, _What was it called? A bed…bed…bedroom. Yes. This is a bedroom._

Curious about why she was here, she pushed herself off the bed, but it soon became apparent that she had taken things a bit more hastily than she should've. As soon as she had twisted her body to swivel her legs across the bed over to the floor and tried to stand up, she realized, a bit too late, that her legs had not completely regained its functionality just yet. As soon as she tried to stand up, her legs gave away, and she crashed unceremoniously onto the floor with an audible yelp, one that was startled out of her, one she did not realize she made until she had finally come still against the floor.

Footsteps, hurried, sounded outside the bedroom door on the other side of the bedroom just moments after she fell. Someone, apparently, had heard her tumble. The sound, coupled with the tumble, served to jolt Terra back into her mind; Terra was already slowly climbing onto the feet before the door to the room opened, and was helped back by strong arms the rest of the way. Terra looked up wearily, found herself looking into the kind, concerned eyes of an aged man, not quite elderly yet, but not too far away. Although his hair was predominately brown, already, streaks of white and silver were making its way across the man's receding hairline.

Terra found herself quite disorientated, even as she was helped upright. "W…Where…" Terra whispered, trying to look around with eyes that suddenly refused to focus, "…am I?"

"Easy there," the man said, ensuring that Terra wasn't going to take another spill on the floor, "You're in safe hands. You're in a house, _my_ house. No one's going to harm you here." Seeing how Terra seemed to have gotten her bearings back as her eyes fought for focus, seemingly becoming a bit more alert and aware as the man uttered those words, he let go of her for just a moment…which proved to be a mistake. No sooner had the man let go of Terra that she suddenly collapsed to the floor, clutching at her head, whimpering in pain as she sagged to her knees, seemingly unable to concentrate as she made small, gasping noises at the sudden jolts in her head.

"My, my," the man muttered, kneeling down as well as his strong arms came around Terra's own in the attempt to assist her up, "And I only just removed the crown…" the man proceeded in helping Terra up once more, taking gentle care of her as he lifted, as if he was lifting something as delicate as china, "…Alright, come on, girl, up you go. Let's get you back in bed; I think you definitely need some rest."

Terra did not protest as she shakily limped back to the bed under the man's guidance. All she managed to whisper as she was laid back down was, "…Head…hurts…"

_Not a shocker_, the man thought to himself. "Easy there," the man assured Terra, "You'll be fine, I promise. So why don't you lie down while I get you something hot to eat?"

Terra obeyed as she quietly lay in bed, one hand still clutching at her forehead. It still hurt, mightily at that. She felt terribly exposed as the man left her side, moving away to her left, as if he had been some sort of wall that had suddenly disappeared. She felt…vulnerable. At the mention of eating, however, Terra noticed than a pleasant smell had reached her nose. Strangely enough, she felt as if she had never smelled the food before, but the more the aroma entered her nose, the more she felt like she had smelt this before. _This is…stew. He's cooking stew._ She turned her head towards her left, saw that the old man was coming back with a hot bowl of stew.

"Here," the man said as he sat down on the bed beside Terra, handing her the stew, complete with spoon, "Drink this. You'll feel better."

Even without the slave crown, Terra obeyed, taking the bowl in her hands silently. She looked at the spoon for a long moment, wondering what on earth it could be used for. It was slightly more difficult to place than before, so she resorted to simply placing her lips on the edge of the bowl and slowly pouring its contents into her mouth. It tasted quite good, and she felt warmer than she had moments before, allowing the feeling to spread throughout her body. It felt…different, somehow. As if she had never tasted something like this before. She quickly took another sip, and, soon, half of the contents of the bowl had already traveled down her throat. The stew was pretty good.

Terra also began to notice a few more aspects about herself even as her mind became clearer with the warmth. She was dressed in red, her dress simple in both design and material, clearly meant for functionality over elegance. Her hair, she noticed, was heavily curled, dirty blond, and reached down quite a bit, just shy of her waist. Her skin was as pale, perhaps from the cold, and although the flames had warmed her skin, it had little effect on her bones and flesh; the stew helped there. It was coming back slowly.

"Do you feel any better?" the man asked Terra. Terra looked at the man for a moment, then simply nodded, her expression stoic and empty. The man gave a small, wry smile; at least things were improving by a bit.

"My name is Arvis," the man introduced himself, "Arvis Jun. I live here in Narshe. What is your name?"

_Name._ Terra took a double-take at that word. _What is a name?_ Terra wondered. She tried probing into her mind, trying to figure it out, digging into the recesses of her memories to find an answer…only to find emptiness inside it. Terra frowned, tried again, as if hoping to grope around and find something. It didn't work; moreover, her probing seemed to only serve to give a painful jolt through her brain, and, immediately, the remaining half of the stew spilled over on the bed as her hands went to her head again, clutching at it in pain and she let out a muffled cry. Arvis was quick to quickly remove the bowl and blanket before it could burn her skin.

"Whoa, there," Arvis frowned, quickly lowering his head to where Terra's was, an expression of agony written on her face, "Are you alright? Hang in there. Hang in there, you hear? It's going to be quick, it'll pass soon." Arvis seemed to be quite familiar with the symptoms, and, no sooner had he said it, the aching in Terra's head subsided to a dull throb. It still felt a little painful, but not like the kind of jolt it had been like before. Terra felt as if someone had shot a lightning bolt through her head. She quickly wiped away the tears that had formed in her eyes, blinking every now and then as if to clear her mind and ascertain the pain had truly subsided.

"Easy," Arvis whispered, his voice gentle, confirming that Terra was truly alright, "Feeling better now?" Terra nodded slowly; the pain had shaken her badly. Arvis, seeing that Terra was herself now, moved over to a nearby cupboard, and retrieved what looked like a circlet for the head. It was dark, metallic, a design sinister and unwelcoming. Terra flinched at the device involuntarily; she did not know what it was, but she felt like it was something that she once knew…like an old enemy.

"This is a slave crown," Arvis explained, gesturing towards the device, "It's of Imperial make, but smugglers, slave traders, and other kinds of scum love getting their hands on these when they can. It was robbing you of your thoughts, making it so you'd do whatever they told you. It damages the head a bit…" Arvis paused, then added hastily, "…But I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I…" Terra whispered, tried to say something, "I…can't…" Terra paused for another moment, prepared to probe her mind again, then stopped, remembering how much it had hurt last time, facing the void in her mind and trying to grope around in the complete emptiness, "…I can't remember…I don't…know. There's…nothing there. I can't remember a thing…"

Arvis patted Terra gently on the back. "Don't worry," Arvis assured her, "It's a side effect to the slave crown, a common symptom. It comes with damage to the brain. It'll all come back to you; it always does…in time, that is."

Terra frowned, her eyes downcast. Somehow, the feeling of being pitied…she met it with mixed feelings. It was something she felt she was used to, something she felt she was not used to, something that she found relief in, something she hated. Terra shook her head slightly; she didn't like how her mind was shooting in a thousand different directions now that there was a big, gaping void in the middle of it. _I mustn't give up_, Terra thought as she winced, preparing herself for the pain to come as she attempted to enter the deepest recesses of her memory again. _Name_, Terra thought, _I need a name…_

Several jolts in her head caused Terra to flinch, but she relaxed slightly when she realized that they were not completely painful; rather, they felt almost fuzzy, as if something in her brain was fusing together after having been torn apart. Terra concentrated again, noticed that her head felt warm, almost hot, and put on a determined expression as she tried her hardest to grasp out into that void. She felt as if she _had_ something; if she could just reach out to whatever it was she could not see and _grab_ it…

_Terra._

"Terra," the named had left her lips before she even thought about it, which surprised her slightly as she whispered it again, "Terra…" she paused, as if making sure that the name sounded familiar, then, again, "Terra…yes. My name…is…Terra."

Arvis seemed impressed in spite of himself, crossing his arms and allowing a grin to pass along his face. "Terra, huh?" Arvis repeated the name, smiled, "It's a good name. A down-to-earth name for a girl such as yourself. But that was truly impressive! I've never heard of anyone recovering from this so fast. Most people take weeks to recall their own name, but you did it in seconds! Who knows when it'll all come back to you? You're really tougher than you look, you know."

Terra managed a small smile, one of gratitude and slight embarrassment. "I…" Terra whispered, nodded, and finished, "…I try." She found the feeling of being confined to the bed uncomfortable, and the embarrassment she was experiencing only enhanced the feeling. Slowly, she allowed herself to make it up to her feet, making sure that, this time, she was well-balanced and in control of her legs, before permitting herself to take a few steps back and forth. She seemed to be okay.

"That you will," Arvis nodded, watching Terra attempt to regain her ability to walk, and, suddenly, his face turned solemn, his acute eyes burning into her own, and Terra suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable, if not slightly overwhelmed, "Terra, listen to me for a quick moment. I believe you are someone special, someone who can help us with our goals. I know that, with your amnesia, this will probably all sound very…" Arvis paused, noticed that the confusion on Terra's expression had reached an unusual climax, asked, "…Is there something wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Terra whispered, seemingly a bit embarrassed, as if realizing she was asking a question which the answer was probably obvious, "but what's 'amnesia'?"

Arvis smiled awkwardly. "It is a disorder," Arvis explained, "in which one cannot recall her own memories."

Terra blinked, thought about it for a moment. Yes, now that Arvis had explained it, the word did seem familiar. She knew the word, she had used it before. She nodded, signifying a response, before quietly whispering, "…Okay." Understandably, she did not seem thrilled by the prospect.

"As I was saying," Arvis continued, "I think we need your help. You were, by influence of the slave crown, being forced to commit acts of atrocity for the Empire. But things have now changed. You are yourself again. You are your own. You can do whatever you choose to do. Power over yourself is your given right. And now, there is a path before you, one that, if my suspicions are correct, only you can travel, only…"

Whatever Arvis was going to say, he did not finish it. There was a sudden knocking in the distance, three knocks, delivered rapidly in force. Arvis' head shot towards the wall; Terra did not know it, but it was towards the front door of the house. Arvis quickly frowned, putting both his hands on Terra's shoulders as his eyes riveted back to Terra. "Stay here," Arvis commanded, "Just stay here for a quick moment, and don't make a sound." Without waiting for Terra to foster any sort of response, Arvis was already moving out of the bedroom, making his way across the living room towards the front door. The fire in the fireplace was still burning, providing Arvis with a bit of warmth to overcome the sudden cold fear that had gripped him. He was not worried about what might happen to him, but if his suspicions were correct, what might happen to the girl, to Terra, was…

Three knocks again, harsh, delivered in impatience. "Open up!" the voice outside called, "We're with the militia!" Arvis scowled, his guess on the money. _How the _hell_ did the militia find out she was here?_ Arvis wondered. He had taken extra care to maneuver through the back alleys and side streets to ensure that no one saw him carrying a young girl from mine shaft thirteen, yet here the militia was, knocking on his door. Composing himself, as if nothing at all was wrong, he adopted a straight, pleasant face as he stopped just for a moment at the door, taking a deep breath as he did so. Leaving the door chain on, Arvis opened the door just slightly, enough to draw the chain taut. Indeed, outside were two militiamen, dressed in white cloaks and jackets. Beneath them came a growl, and, as Arvis' eyes moved towards the source, he soon realized why he had been found out. _Attack dogs_, Arvis thought bitterly, _they sniffed her out._

"Good evening, gentlemen," Arvis said pleasantly, with a hint of fatigue in his voice, "It's the middle of the night here; to what might I owe the pleasure of this…unexpected visit?" Immediately, Arvis regretted his choice of words and expression; a more irritated, drowsy stance would've done to reflect the fact that Arvis had been sleeping through the night, a better cover for his innocence. Then, again, the lights _were_ open at his house, ruling out that possibility. This would have to do.

"We're here for a girl," the head militiaman closest to Arvis said point-blank, the barrel of his submachine gun not quite pointed directly to the ground despite the sling around his shoulder, "She's the MagiTek armor pilot that had attacked the town several hours earlier. We believe she's taking refuge in your residence."

_Gig's up_, Arvis thought as he continued to smile pleasantly. "I'm afraid there's been a mistake," Arvis said simply, "I've been up all night with paperwork, and I'm certain there's no girl here. Now, if you excuse me, I really should get back to my work. Good night."

The guard saw what was happening and attempted to shove his submachine gun in the way, but Arvis had already slammed the door shut and locked the door in front of him, turning both knobs to ensure that the double lock would keep the door in place for a moment. He was already running for the bedroom, towards Terra, when more banging pounded on the door, angry whacks of the submachine gun against the wooden frame. "Hey!" a militiaman shouted as he banged on the door, "Open this door! Open this door right now and hand over that girl! She's an agent of the Empire!"

Arvis nearly slipped as he made a frantic turn into the bedroom, and, not surprisingly, found Terra standing there, an expression of fright written plainly on her face as she saw Arvis run into the room. The sound of the pounding and the not-so-friendly voices had made their way to the bedroom, and, if Terra didn't understand what was going on, she at least understood that there was something very, very wrong. Her hands were clasped to her chest, looking at Arvis uncertainly, as if she suddenly realized that he was a serial killer, or someone who had done a serious misdemeanor and was being chased.

"Wh…" Terra tried to speak, her voice barely a whisper as her eyes, wide and full of panic, searched Arvis for an answer, even as the man righted himself moved directly for Terra, "What was that about? 'Empire'? 'MagiTek armor'?"

Terra flinched visibly as Arvis quickly stormed up to her, grabbed her by the wrist. She was almost completely sure that Arvis was going to harm him, but Arvis was already talking before she could say anything. "There's no time to explain," Arvis panted, pulling Terra, who, at the moment, was too stunned to protest as she was dragged along, towards the back door, "You need to get out of here…" Arvis paused, seeing how Terra seemed positively frightened and uncertain, and placed both hands on her bare shoulders again, hissed, "…Trust me! You have to trust me. I'm trying to save you right now. I'm _not_ going to give you back to the Empire so they can do what they want with you, and…" Arvis gestured towards the direction of the pounding door, "…these fools aren't going to listen to reason, not after what happened tonight. Come with me, this way, quickly!"

Terra prepared to nod, and almost screamed as a sudden series of loud, rapid bursts, automatic gunfire, was heard from the front door, but Arvis' hand was already sealing Terra's mouth, preventing any sound from coming out, just as Terra had finished drawing the breath in for her to make that scream. "Come on, this way!" Arvis hissed, pulling Terra along again, knowing that the militiamen, realizing Arvis wasn't going to open the door, had begun to fire at the door with their submachine guns. It would only be a matter of seconds before they would be able to make a forced entry into the house.

"Put this on," Arvis commanded as soon as they had reached the back door, which was just right outside another door of the bedroom, leading to a small, dark hallway. Immediately, Arvis had procured a large jacket from the rack, and, Terra, seemingly having been jolted into awareness by the rapid, violent chain of events around her, was aware enough to realize that this was an article of clothing, and put the cloak on as Arvis helped.

"It's freezing cold outside," Arvis said, buttoning some of the larger buttons as Terra's body practically disappeared under the large bundle of clothing that was obviously too large for her, "so make sure you keep this on at all times, got it? Keep it on until you leave Narshe…" the submachine gun gunfire stopped for just a moment, and both of them, Terra and Arvis, noticed this, turning their heads towards the previous source of the sound, before they both flinched at the next series of sounds, the sickening crunch of wood, indicating that the militiamen outside were now punching and kicking their way through a splintered wooden door, which was enough to bring Arvis back to his senses, "…Alright, listen! You have to make your way out of town through the mines, do you understand? It's going to be dangerous, but you can do it. Go through the mines, get out of town if you want to live! I'll try to buy you some more time!"

The sound of a distant crash turned their heads towards the front door again, not visible from where they stood, and this time, Arvis practically pushed Terra out the door as he opened it. "Go, go, _go_!" Arvis hissed quietly as he gently shoved Terra outside into the snow, leaving her bewildered as she fought against confusion and fright, obviously uncertain what to do, arrows provided for her yet no one to guide her, "Go for the mines! _Hurry_!"

And, with that, Arvis quickly closed the door behind her, locked it. Terra stared at the door in fright for a moment, still uncertain of what to do. The sound of three-round burst from a submachine gun inside the house, though, was enough to send her bolting with a yelp; the sound had come from indoors, several meters away, but in the quiet of the night, it sounded much closer. Looking around, Terra saw that the backdoor led onto a small bridge, a wooden path suspended in midair that was part of the crisscrossing network of the canyon town. For this particular bridge, located a single floor above ground, the wooden planks led to the western side of the canyon. The snowstorm had stopped and the night was slightly clearer, already nearing dawn, but it was still freezing nonetheless. Terra huddled down next to the northern wall of Arvis' house for just a moment, just for her to catch her breath and become accustomed to the temperature. She had a good view of the rest of Narshe from the second floor bridge, catching a sight of the industrial mining town, the hundreds of pillars of steam coming out of fireplaces, furnaces, chimneys across the coal city. It was still dark; dawn had not yet graced Narshe, and it was far too late for most lights to be turned on.

"I told you, there's no one here!"

The sudden roar from inside the house sounded much different from the tone of voice that Arvis used to speak with her; despite huddling together, Terra suddenly felt much colder hearing Arvis screaming at someone, screaming with abject rage. Her eyes widened as she shuddered involuntarily, looking at the window just above her, a window that might've permitted her to see an enraged Arvis, if she stood up to look. But she knew better.

Terra could hear the heavy, rapid footsteps inside the house. Three sets of them. One of them came unbelievably close. Although she and someone who was walking inside were divided by a wooden wall, Terra was still practically able to _feel_ someone walking by. The proximity of the footsteps badly unnerved her, and Terra was almost absolutely sure that, if she didn't move now, the footsteps would stop, the window above her would open, and someone would see her. She looked around, her wild eyes darting around, burning with panic. Her eyes found an opening, what looked like an open vent that led back into the building, a metallic enclosure between the second story floorboards and the first story ceiling. She scrambled inside on all fours; even with her bulky cloak, her frame was so small, so frail, that she had no problems moving inside the vents.

"Get out, get out!" Arvis' voice became clearer, and Terra could tell that the voices were right above her, right on top of her, "How dare you trespass here into my room into the middle of the night! Has the militia turned into some sort of secret police?" She suppressed a sudden need to cry out in fright; the footsteps above her, coupled with the voices, were far too close to her. She knew that her pursuers were mere inches away from her, divided only by several wooden boards. She bit her lip, willing nothing to come out of her mouth, clasping her hands over them for a good measure. Terra felt almost bewildered that she had not been found out yet. Of course she hadn't been found out; they could not see her, and she knew it. Still, the voices were heard with such clarity, the footsteps _just_ above her, dust coming down from the ceiling of the vents every time a foot came down above her. It was too real not for it to be overwhelmingly frightening.

"We know the girl is here!" the militiaman's voice was clear now that he was just right above Terra, his voice not louder than Arvis', but intimidating enough, "Where are you hiding her? Victor, check the back door, see if she's hiding there!"

"Goddammit!" Arvis again, "How many times do I have to tell you? I've been here all alone for the past few hours!" A set of footsteps were moving away, but Terra knew that it was headed towards the back door, close to her. All the militiaman had to do was to kneel down and look in, and he would see her. Terra continued to scramble further in, and, upon arriving at a junction in the vents, a path leading right, Terra dove in, like a mouse into a rathole, disappearing from sight just as the militiaman, having made his way outdoors, noticed the vent, knelt down, looked in, and saw that he could not see Terra in the vents. Deciding that Terra was not there, the militiaman stood back up, advanced further down the bridge, looking for signs to see if Terra had escaped elsewhere.

Terra continued to tremble in fear; that call had been close. Ever tremor from her body seemed to create an excess of sound as the buttons of her cloak scratched against the metallic vents, and the chattering of her teeth, both to fear and cold, added to the sound, sounds that, to a frightened Terra, seemed to be abnormally loud.

Arvis' voice again, a bit further away, no longer directly on top of Terra, but still close, still delivered in anger. "Goddammit, how can you be so stupid? You know me! I've been trying to push for anti-Imperial reform for years! I've been talking to the elder about it, I'm practically _known_ for being anti-Imperial! What in the _hell_ makes you think I'm trying to protect the Empire now?"

Even from inside the vent, Terra heard a cracking sound, something that sounded like something hard smashing itself against flesh. Even with her hands over her mouth, Terra could not completely stifle a cry that escaped her throat. Already, tears were streaming down her eyes, threatening to freeze on her cheeks. Something crashed onto the floor right above her, something that sounded like it had the mass of a body, followed by a grunt of pain. The crash was so loud that Terra practically _felt_ as if something had crashed _onto_ her. She gave another muffled cry, but, thankfully, it was blocked out by the crash.

Another set of footsteps, approaching. They fell silent somewhere above. Then, a voice. "She's not out there."

The first voice, frustrated. "She's not in the house either."

Scratching sounds on the floor, sounding vaguely like footsteps, but not quite. They became more frantic, more erratic. Then came the barks, indicating that the attack dogs seemed to be going wild around the house.

"I told you," Arvis again, his voice weaker than before and slightly slurred, as if he was wheezing for breath, but not losing any of his rage from earlier, "There's no one here!"

There was an uncomfortable lapse in conversation, the presence of voices nonexistent, with only the sounds of the paws scratching on the floorboards and the incessant barking audible. Finally, the second militiaman. "Dammit," he scowled, "Dogs are going crazy here."

Terra did not wait any longer; seeing her chance, seeing that all of her pursuers were seemingly still gathered in the house, she began to frantically claw her way out of the vents, squirming, crawling towards the exit. The barking above her continued, the attack dogs obviously picking up the scent, clawing at the ground below them, as if they could scratch their way through the floor to dig out Terra. Terra worked her way in a mad craze, pulling herself out of the vent. She did not look to see if there was anyone outside that would catch her popping out of a vent; as soon as she made it back into the snow, she simply began running, nearly tripping, ankle-deep in snow and having not fully gotten back on her feet before she started bolting for the mines, scampering on all fours for a few steps before managing to continue with a run onto the bridge leading west. Behind her, the barks in the house were growing louder than before, incessant, threatening to engulf Terra's senses. She ran.

The wooden bridges were not wide, meant only for a single human to access various parts of the canyons from their own back doors, only four feet wide. It did help that the bridge was firmly built, refusing to bend or shudder even as Terra rushed through it, but it did not help that the bridge was at least ten feet in the air and without railings, providing Terra an excellent view of, not to mention a potential excellent fall to, the streets below. It was still night, the skies dark, the streets desolate, yet every shadow on the street drew her suspicion and fear, and for good reason. The militia of Narshe was out on a witch hunt.

She had made it halfway across the bridge when commotion below attracted her attention. Looking towards the source of the sound, she quickly saw a small squad of militiamen, four in all, all dressed in the usual white cloak and robes, having been searching in the streets, fifty meters to her left. One of them had called out as he brought a submachine gun to bear, pointing it directly in Terra's direction as the other three turned in unison, "Up there! She's up there!" Immediately after, the barrel of his firearm flashed three times as a three-round burst was fired towards Terra. Terra did not quite understand what the black instrument did, nor did she understand the insinuations of it being pointed at her…until a beam of the bridge next to her suddenly exploded into splinters, and Terra screamed as she shielded herself, stumbling from the sudden flying flakes of wood, dropping to the floor as she nearly stumbled.

"Stop it!" another militiaman interjected, quickly grabbing the first militiaman's submachine gun and pushing it away, "Cease fire! We want her alive!"

Terra wasn't sure what was going on, but she had regained her balance, a beam had exploded next to her a moment ago, and whatever the hell had been firing at her certainly wasn't anymore, so Terra took that as a cue to continue running down the bridge, scrambling onto her feet and rushing in towards the caves. The mines weren't too far off; she had already made it halfway past the bridge, and the other half was only a twenty meter dash until her feet would hit snow once more, and then stone as the caves would shield her from the wind and chill.

The pandemonium raging in Terra's mind had subsided someone, as had her breathless gasps, when she had finally made it deep enough into the cave to no longer see the entrance of the caves behind her, the only source of light from the torches lit in the cave. Her dirty blond hair had become disarray in her mad rush, and, as her hands moved to brush them out of her face, she realized that, upon her hands coming into her line of sight, they were trembling furiously. Terra huddled herself close together; it was much warmer in the mines than it was in the snow outside, yet Terra felt no warmer than she had felt outside. A cold grip had wrenched her insides, and, as she settled down onto the dusty ground, hugging her knees, she realized that her heart was threatening to jump out of her breast, and trails of tears were frozen on her cheeks.

She didn't mind them; she just wanted to calm down and get her bearings right again. She felt so disorientated, so _dizzy_. She had no idea what she was running from, or why she was running. Fear was one step away from her, and that was the only real reason compelling her to do anything. She tried to think, tried to remember, tried to recall anything that would help piece together her situation. Again, she attempted to reach out into the void, reach into the emptiness, hoping that, perhaps, groping around blindly, she would manage to find _something_. _Anything_.

_Please_, Terra said to the emptiness and herself as she searched, _I just want to know…I just want to remember…_

The emptiness almost swallowed her whole, threatened to gain her complete attention, had echoing footsteps from afar, the sound of multiple rapid footsteps approaching, jolted her back to reality. Realizing that they may as well be the prelude to her torture, or whatever these men had in mind for her, Terra tried to get back up, but failed as she did so, stumbling onto the ground from her sitting position instead. She clawed at the ground, looking back at her legs in a panic; they were shaking, refusing to respond, frozen in fear. She stifled a cry as she clawed at the ground, her fingernails digging into the dirt, trying to climb her way back up, or, failing that, crawl her way through the caves. She was not making much progress in that department, however; her arms felt weak, numb, doing no better in hoisting herself across the ground.

Another series of footsteps were heard in the distance, yet they were lighter, faster. Echoing pants and barks confirmed the worst of Terra's fears: The dogs were loose on the hunt. And she was prey.

The dogs had appeared before Terra even realized it, and they were fast. Two gray huskies, with shiny beads as eyes, cold and deep, their fangs sharp and dripping with saliva, the kind of aggressive dogs that are furiously loyal to their trainers…and utterly deadly to their foes. Their powerful muscles bristled under their skin, dark lines twitching just below the skin, barely hidden under their long white-and-black fur. Their jaws snapped as they raced down the fifty-meter path towards Terra, their jaws snapping like something evil from hell, their aura of belligerence preceding their actual attack. Terra only climbed ever more frantically at the sight, gasping as she did so, but even she knew she wasn't going to outrun two attack dogs, especially in her current condition.

The attack dogs continued, no hesitation in their approach, as they got within five meters of the panicking Terra, their jaws opening as their legs loosened, bent, tensed, then proceeded to propel themselves into the air, eager to sink their fangs into human flesh, both of them glaring at Terra terribly, who had looked up, knowing what was coming…

She screamed, shielded herself with her arms, as if her frail limbs could possibly deflect the two dogs, and, just as she did so, her arms lit ablaze with a red flare, and, before she could react, she had winced, turned away as the light of her arms blinded her, and then there was a wave of heat she barely felt bursting through her body, then through her arms, before exiting them. She stumbled backwards at the feeling; the blast itself was not forceful, but she had been far too shocked to have been prepared for such a sensation. She wondered if the dogs were already upon her, if their fangs had found the warm, crimson liquid of her life, if the heat of her blood was now flowing out of her and on her…

She opened her eyes slowly, fearing that the scars and disfiguring of her flesh may be too harsh an image for her to bear, but as she opened her eyes, realizing the heat had subsided just slightly, she looked down upon herself, saw herself unharmed, and the path behind her completely clear, the dogs nowhere to be seen. Confused, her eyes followed the source of a sudden, slight crackling sound to her sides, and she proceeded to look left and right.

The two dogs were there, each one beside Terra, and, with a start, Terra realized that they were lying on their sides, _burning_. Their bodies were ablaze, tongues of fire licking what little remained of their flesh as the fur and skin burnt away, leaving only the flesh of the hounds to satisfy the hunger of the flames. Lifeless, the dogs simply lay there, dead, unable to prevent the fire from decomposing their body, slowly peeling layer after layer of themselves to plain view, a sight that Terra found far more frightening than the attack dogs rushing at her, preparing to dispatch her.

The disgusting lump of flesh and bones drove a cold fear, or perhaps panicked revulsion, into Terra's heart despite the flames warming her body as her eyes went wide and hollow, blank, staring, horrified at the scene and trying to turn away, yet her body would not respond, herself being riveted by the scene. Her mouth, the small, petite little thing, was hanging just slightly ajar at the sight, and she fought for control over herself, tried to turn away, tried to _run_. With the dead, burning dogs beside her, it didn't take too long for her to be motivated; shakily, she managed to get back onto her feet, closing her eyes, trying to flush the memories from her head, feeling strangely light and nonexistent, before breaking into an awkward run, which proceeded to evolve into a sprint. She wanted _out_ of here.

Perhaps the divine powers had heard her prayers.

As she sprinted, ran in a blind panic, scared, frightened, the ground below her, aged, brittle, abused by the necessities of mining, suddenly gave way and shattered below her feet. Terra only had a moment to scream before the abyss welcomed her into its embrace, sending her into a short fifteen-foot freefall…

…that was thankfully broken by a slight inclination of the cavern walls, diverting her weight slightly to the side, slowly her rapid descent, before permitting her to bounce off, a pained cry following immediately after, before she finally finished the five-foot fall onto the ground, where, upon impact, a second cry was forced out of her throat.

Still she laid on the ground for just a few seconds before she had realized she had fallen from the floor above, and, upon understanding such, she pulled herself, slowly, to her feet. Her right leg, she saw, was bleeding, a result of having scraped herself across the slant of the mine walls. It was far better than having fallen completely flat on the ground below, though. She could not quite comprehend this, however, and could not be thankful for such a situation; even as she made it back up to her feet, the pain was ever evident, not just in her leg, but in her head as well. The voices, the pain, the disorientation had all made it back into her head once more, the feeling of emptiness and helplessness filling her mind as she struggled against it futilely, watching in surrender as it consumed her.

Dizzy, pained, and traumatized, she wobbled…and collapsed onto the ground, alone, in a dead faint.

* * *

The sun had trickled some of its rays into the canyons, providing Narshe with some form of natural light, when he arrived, accompanying the light.

The first thing he had noticed when he prepared to enter the town was that it was bustling with frantic activity. It wasn't surprising; the Imperial assault on Narshe must've had turned a few heads and shaken a few people, a small, covert attack force operating in a neutral town. Already, civilians were mingling with the militiamen, sharing gossip, man and woman, young and old. The crowds were all throughout the street, each of them accosting each other as if hoping the other would have more information, all while surveying the damage done to their city. Their ire was up; how _dare_ the Empire attack a neutral city.

It was hard sneaking into a canyon town with only one known entrance. His motive for stealth was specifically because the city was in a panic; every stranger seemed like a possible suspect in the aftermath of an atrocity, and he didn't visit Narshe often. Eyes that traced him, a face hardly familiar within the snowy streets of the cold mining town, gleamed with suspicion. Still, though, security still seemed somewhat lax, and it was clear that the militia was as startled and uncertain as the civilians who were just beginning to discover what was going on. He passed through unmolested.

Still, he was careful enough to take side streets and back alleys regardless, deciding to play it safe. There was no point in being caught now; he had done nothing wrong here, and there were probably far more important things to do than spending the night being interrogated by the militia. A leather coat was "borrowed" along the way to his destination; it was cold here, and he had been summoned on sudden notice, with no chance to stop anywhere to procure extra clothing.

It was deeper into the town that the scars of the assault became more evident. Jagged black lines showed where the beams of the MagiTek armor had cut through. Bullet marks peppered the streets and walls, 20mm by the look of the holes, showing where they had relentlessly torn through. A blown house seemed to indicate something that resembled a gas explosion…perhaps the result of a well-placed missile. He was familiar with the specs of MagiTek armor, having conducted surveillance activities on them before for various interests. MagiTek armor was one of the most fearsome weapons on the battlefield, and those who might end up going against one often preferred to know what hell had in store for them.

Yet he was not here to survey the damage in Narshe. His visit to this cold, wintry mining town was for another purpose entirely, although, admittedly, even he was not clear as to exactly why he was summoned.

The first thing that truly alarmed him in the morning was the sight of a certain house when he managed to get close enough, which was something around thirty meters, on the snowy cliffs on the eastern side of the pass, aligned with the second floor buildings of Narshe, one of the natural streets of the city. He had intended to enter through the front door like a gentleman, yet he stopped cold in his tracks, his eyes widening in surprise then squinting in suspicion as he trained his gaze at the front door of the building. It was a two-story building, yet the first floor was on ground level, one residence, while another above it was surrounded by both bridges and a cliff. The man noticed with some alarm that the front door of the second floor was damaged. "Damaged" might've been an understatement; he couldn't even seen the front door save several splinters on the hinges, indicating that the door had crashed in, a sure sign of a forced entry.

_This doesn't look good_, he thought as he moved to the east, further towards the cliffs, using the jugged rocks as a form of cover as he approached the house. His eyes scanned every window, preparing to stop and hide as soon as movement appeared in any of the glass panes. Thankfully, though, whatever or whoever was in the house, it was still, with no indicator that he would be discovered. He made his way low, sticking close to walls when he had the chance, and, when he had reached the house, stuck below the windows, using the shadows to his advantage, pausing every now and then to listen for sounds from the inside. There were none.

Getting close enough to the front door, he looked down, and was not at all surprised to see that the wooden door had been spliced, torn through by bullets, shredding the door. It was a mess, and, to that extent, he made his way in quietly, without a sound, calmly and lightly walking in with suppressed footsteps, his eyes darting left and right, up and down to search for unseen threats. The parlor wasn't very large, a small hallway that eventually led right to the living room. He pressed himself against the wall, sliding along it, minimizing his chances of being found, going further along the path, taking careful care not to step on the wooden splinters and give himself away. Making it to the end of the hall, he turned right, and, to his slight relief, found that the interior was slightly less disturbed than the parlor, although not necessarily untouched. Large objects such as couches, tables, cupboards, bookshelves, and, in one case, a grandfather clock were moved and flipped in disarray, while the floor was fresh with what seemed like dirty footprints originating from boots, even paw prints. _Attack dogs, if I had to guess_, he thought.

On the far end, a man with wearing blue and white, gray hair brushed to the back of his head, could be found seated, wearily, in front of an office chair, his back to he who had just entered. His eyes scanned the room again, looking for dangers he might have missed, factors he might not have realized, then scanned the man sitting in the chair one more time, before finally deciding that the room was safe and clear.

"Shit," Locke Cole muttered, looking around at the mess as he placed his arms on his hips, "What the hell happened here?"

Arvis turned around from where he sat, seemingly not surprised of Locke's appearance, just of the complete silence in which he had arrived. "There was a dispute," Arvis said plainly with a shrug, standing up. His voice was slightly slurred, stilted, as if it hurt his mouth to talk. Locke frowned as Arvis turned, giving him a better view of the older man. The right side of his cheek was bruised, slightly misshapen, and was still matted with a bit of blood. Apparently, something had struck him hard across the face, hard enough to crack something inside.

"A 'dispute'?" Locke repeated skeptically, raising an eyebrow and keeping his brown eyes trained on Arvis' wound, "Look at your face." Undoubtedly, he thought of it as an understatement. At first glance, Locke Cole could've seemed like just about any other passerby on the street. Aside from the cloak he picked up, his attire, a blue pair of trousers, a blue vest, and a white shirt under it, were all made of ordinary, average material, unadorned, slightly coarse; he seemed like just about any other random person, unworthy of a second glance. The only real noteworthy item on him was a blue bandana wrapped around his head, and that was usually passed over with a fleeting glance as well.

It was at the rare second glance that one began to notice the details surrounding the young man in his mid-twenties. He seemed to fade into the background nicely, doing so without effort; he just seemed to be able to be immune to scrutiny and attention. His fingers were thin, long, nimble, and, on occasion, one could catch his fingers dancing in the air, as if he was playing an invisible piano, or conducting an invisible orchestra, the motion of his fingers quick, sure, and true. He was not muscular, yet the firm tendons under his skin, visible through faint groove lines on his skin from a closer observation, showed that he was no slouch. His fair skin displayed several scruff marks, as if he had spent his time in a factory or a mine shaft, streaks of dirt across his fair face. Grayish-blond hair, going down to his neck, were roughly divided into bangs under his blue bandana, inadvertently hiding his brown eyes below, which reflected a clever, brilliant gleam, a sure indicator of his wit, if not his intelligence.

"Just a bruise," Arvis waved it off, walking his way over to Locke, making sure not to step on anything that might've been knocked over to the floor, his movements, careful and uncertain, telling Locke that the guards had moved things, Arvis had not moved it back, and now Arvis found himself unused to navigating through a familiar room with objects where they weren't supposed to be, "It'll heal in time. That said, enough about me, let's talk about _you_. It certainly took _you_ long enough! Busy with all that robbing and plundering, I presume?"

Locke's eyes seemed to widen just a bit with a mock expression of shock, before he scowled, seemingly displeased. "I prefer the term 'treasure hunting'!" Locke declared in irritation, crossing his arms.

Arvis snorted. "Semantic nonsense!" Arvis countered.

Locke gave Arvis a cocky grin, raised a finger into the air, as if it made all the difference in the world. "There's a _huge_ difference!" Locke chuckled, "_Treasure hunter_ sounds so much more adventurous, romantic, and…" Locke paused, then shrugged trivially, as if he added the following as an afterthought, "…you might say, _legal_…than _robber_ or _thief_…" Locke suddenly paused, realizing he was lingering too far off-topic, and nodded to Arvis, crossing his arms, "…Anyways, you called for me, yeah? I received your messenger pigeon; is there something you need me to do? I don't get too many courtesy calls from Narshe."

Arvis nodded, closed his eyes as he paced the living room a bit, and Locke, noting how much older Arvis suddenly looked with that simple motion, was suddenly worried that Arvis would forget the objects in the room have been displaced, and would trip over something. "Yeah…" Arvis blew air out of his mouth, looking out the window, "There is something. There is a girl I'd like you to meet."

At this, Locke's eyes widened in genuine surprise, not a mock expression, as he strutted forward towards Arvis, as if to get a closer look at the man, either to check his expression to see if he was joking, or if the butt of a submachine gun had slammed _too_ hard against his head. "This better not have _anything_ to do with that MagiTek-riding, Imperial _witch_!" Locke hissed, a voice that sounded more stunned than it was angry.

Arvis looked amused and impressed despite himself. "Narshe was just attacked hours ago," Arvis stated coolly, "and you already have some info on that?"

Locke grimaced, tucked his hands into his pockets. "Word from Figaro was that the Imperial ambassador in Figaro Castle told the castle to expect three MagiTek armors tomorrow," he stated, "They keep me well-informed. I did a bit of digging myself, and found out a few things. It isn't too hard to put one and one together…" Locke shrugged, stopped, looked back at Arvis with a frown, "…Shit, we _are_ talking about the witch, aren't we? I mean, they just _ransacked_ your room. I'd only assume the Narshe guards did that."

"It isn't her fault," Arvis noted, turning from the window to look at Locke, "She was under the influence of a slave crown."

Locke raised an eyebrow; it was obvious he had not heard that part of the story. "Can I see it?" Locke asked, "The slave crown, anyways."

"I'd show it to you…" Arvis sighed, "…if the city guard hadn't already taken it. And we don't have much time. The city guard is pursuing the girl as we speak. This city has the strength to stand up against the Empire, but they won't use it. Their philosophy is clear: 'We will not wage war against another city, kingdom, or state, nor will we intervene in a conflict between other cities, kingdoms, or states.' Narshe's a city of miners, engineers, and workers, with no interest in wars or politics. You can say this is a town born from the proletariat, people sick of this kind of shit. The people here are too stubbornly independent, too stuck to this philosophy, to join an underground resistance group like the Returners. I tried to explain that the Empire was controlling the girl, but they wouldn't listen…" Arvis shrugged, "…I think they were afraid I'd take the slave crown to show that the Empire had been controlling the girl, Terra, then try to sway the populace into taking up arms against the Empire."

Locke sighed, brushed his gloved hands through his hair above the bandana as he did so. _Politics at its best_, Locke thought to himself silently, not speaking it aloud; the comment probably wouldn't be appreciated by Arvis. Returner or not, Arvis _was_ a resident and homeboy of Narshe, his hometown. Scrutiny best be kept to a minimum.

"So that's how it is, huh…?" Locke whispered, his turn to look out the window, noting that it was truly morning now, the canyon beginning to be lit by the sunlight, then nodded, "Alright, then…I'd be loathe to waste a girl on the Empire anyways. So you want me to get her out of Narshe on the double?"

Arvis nodded, winced as he strained one of his wounds by moving his head. "That would be the idea," Arvis agreed, "Make your way to Figaro for the time being; Narshe can't afford to launch a search party outside of their borders, and we can only assume Terra will be safe in Figaro until we can find a safer place to hide her."

Locke raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. The wheels were turning fast in his head. "The Imperial ambassador in Figaro Castle knows about the girl," Locke noted, worry laced in his voice, "It's not extremely likely he won't notice. We're compromising Figaro's alliance with the Empire if we're to offer her sanctuary there. I know their ties aren't all that great, but their guise as the Empire's puppet state is doing wonders for us."

"We don't have much of a choice in this one," Arvis admitted, crossing his arms, "Figaro is the only place that can offer her sanctuary at the moment. While it would be a good idea to smuggle her to South Figaro directly, there's little we can do at the moment without the full support of King Edgar and the Kingdom of Figaro. He'll have to understand the situation, know what the next move is. Neither of us are very political; he'll know how to deal with it."

"Yeah," Locke concurred, scratching a stubble of hair just above his blue bandana, "We're just two farts doing the waterworks. Well, time's a wasting, and the damsel's still in distress; that's why they call upon the knight in shining armor. Where did our lovely lady head off to?"

* * *

By his own admission, Locke was not a professional tracker, but years of being a "treasure hunter" and "adventurer", as he would call it, as well as "thief" and "spy", as others may have called him, endowed him with enough knowledge and experience to follow the trail of the missing girl. It hadn't been completely difficult to follow the trail. Knowing that she had escaped through the backdoor, he had simply followed the path until he discovered that there was a split beam on one of the bridges upon reaching a fork in the road. Upon closer inspection, Locke saw that there were bullet holes into them, light 10mm rounds, seemingly a three-round burst. Standard Narshe submachine gun rounds. Someone from the militia had been shooting in this direction, probably at the escaping Terra. He could bet that she ran this way.

It did not take long for him to run past the bridge into the mines, and discover the second clue. Upon reaching yet another fork in the road, there were clearly two burning lumps of god-knows-what in the distance. Upon moving up for a closer look, he saw with a start that they were the burnt carcasses of two attack huskies. The lumps were almost unrecognizable and disgusting to look at, as if they had been left in some poisonous lagoon for centuries. Locke actually had to pinch his nose as he decided that this was the right direction, and moved further down the cave.

Locke wondered what kind of heat the girl, "Terra", if he remembered Arvis correctly, was packing. The dogs were on fire, but Locke couldn't really find any sort of blast marks anywhere. There were no signs of grenade bursts or missile explosions. _An incendiary grenade, maybe_, Locke thought to himself, taking one last look at the two dead, burning dogs, _or perhaps a flamethrower. No, probably not a flamethrower; the only way she could be hauling that around by now is if Arvis gave it to her, and Arvis sure as hell doesn't have that kind of weapon._ As far as Locke was concerned, the only kingdom around that actually incorporated flamethrowers as an infantry weapon was Figaro. And Terra sure as hell wasn't from Figaro.

The next and last sign that led Locke to Terra was, funnily enough, a hole in the ground. This clue was so ridiculously easy that Locke actually grinned, bemused, as he walked over calmly, lightly, to the hole and looked down. It was twenty-foot fall to the ground, generally not fatal, although there might've been a few bones cracked along the way. Thankfully, though, as Locke managed to peer down the hole, he saw that the wall slanted some, which probably would've helped broke the fall of whoever had the misfortune to stumble down to the floor below. Surely enough, even from above, Locke could see the girl he was searching for. From twenty feet away, Locke could tell that she was definitely a teenager, with a developing body, but still room for more maturity.

Not that it mattered to him anyways. His hands clutching onto the edge of the hole, he slid down from the second floor, and dropped gracefully and lightly onto the floor below, bending his knees to absorb the shock. For a man who often moved from cavern to cavern and jumping from buildings, a twenty-foot drop was hardly a feat to be impressed about.

Locke knelt down next to the limp and unconscious Terra, his hand immediately darting for the neck to detect a pulse. As he did so, his eyes scanned over the crimson-clad Terra, noting the red robes she wore, simple yet elegant, purple ribbons dancing across her body, particularly around the shoulders and waist. Locke frowned at that. _Most definitely not a soldier_, Locke told himself, _and definitely a civilian. The slave crown at its best._ Carrying absolutely no weapons that Locke could see, Terra was slightly curled in an almost fetal position, her skin pale and smooth, flocks of dirty blond hair flowing from her head, almost covering all of her delicate face. A thumb lingered close to her lips, as if she, even in her sleep, wished to place it in her mouth, and Locke, detecting a pulse, could not help but smile as he slid his hand to Terra's face to caress her cheek. _Poor little thing._

Leaving Narshe was now of the utmost priority. While Locke certainly didn't come to Narshe often, he knew the city well enough to know that there were always hidden passageways in the mines, routes out of the city in the emergency. In this case, he did know several of those routes, handy passages that granted him access in and out of the city without anyone noticing. Now was a time to use such. Except footsteps in the distance told him that there might be complications.

The cavern he had dropped into, he knew from previous exploring attempts, was something of a spiderweb, a maze with many intersections branching off to each other. It made for a great place to play hide-and-go-seek, but, listening carefully, Locke could instantly tell that there were plenty of them approaching, which only meant it was that much easier for her to be surrounded. While had no problems with a bloody knife, nor did he have problems with evading search parties, there was the girl to be concerned about. Terra was unconscious, unmoving, and a very vulnerable package. While a glance at her told Locke that Terra probably only weight around fifty kilograms, easy enough for him to carry in his arms, it was going to be difficult to hide, nevermind fight, with her in his arms.

And he certainly couldn't carry her while trying to outrun attack dogs, which, Locke knew, were fast approaching, judging by a lighter, faster set of footsteps sounding in the distance, followed by incessant panting. It sounded like there was quite the number of the attack dogs, sniffing out Locke's scent. Locke listened carefully, trying to make out each individual set of footsteps. _Wonderful_, Locke thought, grimacing, _there's a whole bunch of them…probably around six attack dogs, three guards._ While Locke could easily hide from human pursuers with his stealth, attack dogs were another matter. No matter how good he was from disappearing into an alcove, vanishing into a gap, dogs could always pick out a human scent, and he had no doubt these huskies already had him traced.Locke had run into enough tight spots to be acquainted with canine fangs, and he had no intention of having teeth marks implanted into his ass, especially not here.

The following sight was so hilarious that Locke wondered if it was suitable for this situation.

He had first turned his head around when he had heard a soft noise, something that sounded along the lines of "kupo". His knife had found its way into its hand before Locke even realized that, a trained reaction, meant to be done, not to be understood, for instinct was oft faster than intuition, yet as Locke looked up the hole he had come from, his eyes blinked twice, almost as if he was certain if he blinked hard enough, his eyes would stop playing tricks with him.

Staring back at him was a small, cautious, white head, furry, with what looked like a red pompom above its head, bobbing up and down as it looked down at Locke with small, curious eyes. "Kupo?" the head said in a soft voice as it looked down, its mouth nearly hidden by the fur coating its head, long whiskers, three on each side, extending from above the mouth, quivering as it spoke. A second, similar head popped up next to the first as they both stepped closer to the hole, allowing Locke to see exactly what they were.

The first time Locke had seen a Moogle was when he was fourteen, exploring a cave outside Kohlingen during his early years as a self-proclaimed "treasure hunter". When Locke had stumbled upon one by accident, the first thought that came across his mind was that someone had been here before and accidentally dropped an oversized white teddy bear. That was exactly what the Moogle looked like, a teddy bear, with fluffy white fur, a build that was no greater than three feet, short little limbs, and small pink wings extending from its back that proved too small for flight. Locke could still remember the surprise when the Moogle suddenly moved and squealed "kupo", which pretty much exhausted whatever vocabulary Moogles had that were within human comprehension.

The two Moogles in the caves of Narshe above Locke, however, were not the one that he had seen near Kohlingen. He had not tripped over them, and they seemed more curious than frightened, looking down at Locke in an appraising way, as if immensely interested in what was going on, and wondering what they should do about it. They didn't stay that way for long. A sudden flood of excited "kupo"s suddenly came through the hole, and, before Locke could comprehend what was going on, the two Moogles looking at him were suddenly tipping forward, waving their little arms frantically, as if trying to keep balance and trying not to fall into the hole, although, with the length of their own arms, it seemed like that their "waving" their arms, which amounted to no more than a crazed wiggle, wasn't going to help things at all. The two Moogles quickly fell down the hole, which prompted a sudden flow of Moogles from behind them to appear behind them in a frenzy, also jumping down the hole, seemingly excited as they chattered amongst themselves, a sudden waterfall of Moogles coming down right in front of Locke. The first two Moogles landed unceremoniously on the floor with a high "kupo!", and comically squealed the same line each time each remaining Moogles, nine in all, proceeded to land right on top of them, bouncing off them, even, as they descended down onto the ground where Locke, slightly dumbfounded, was standing.

The Moogles seemed to moreorless ignore Locke's presence as first as they scrambled right past him towards Terra. All of them carried weapons of a sort, some spears, other boomerangs, more flails. Locke was immediately defensive, but paused as he noticed that the nine, eleven when the two unfortunate and stampeded Moogles on the ground finally picked themselves up with a pout, Moogles gathered around Terra seemed to be more fascinated and concerned than anything. A few of them seemed to hug Terra, another few nudging her, but Terra didn't seem to wake. Locke was slightly uncomfortable at the fact that there were just shy of a dozen Moogles that Locke was not familiar with surrounding the girl he was supposed to extract, but he couldn't sense any hostility from the Moogles, only what felt like friendliness and curiosity. In fact, Locke could almost feel a certain familiarity, a bond between the Moogles and Terra.

The Moogles were distracted from their interest, however, as the sound of approaching footsteps became ever more evident. The combination of boots and paws seemed to indicate a detachment of guards and attack dogs approaching, to which the Moogles, to Locke's surprise, actually seemed defensive, drawing their weapons as they formed what almost seemed to be a tiny phalanx around Terra. Locke certainly didn't speak Moogle, but the gesture seemed to indicate enough. "Moogles," Locke addressed them collectively in a hushed voice, seemingly quite surprised, "Are you saying you want to help?"

"Kupo!" came the Moogles' collective, cheerful reply, which Locke, while not quite understanding, decided to take as an affirmative.

"Alright," Locke nodded, hoping that the Moogles would serve as a good distraction, "You guys take care of the attack dogs; I've never liked wrestling with animals. I'll take care of the search teams. We game?"

"Kupo!" the Moogles replied, and, just as quickly, began to scramble off into two groups into the different paths of the cave. Locke heaved a sigh as he began a slight jog further into the caves, but also making sure that Terra was within eyesight; he wasn't sure this was going to work, not with him uncertain of the battle capabilities of eleven Moogles, which Locke, admittedly due to stereotypes and unfamiliarity with them, couldn't help but compare to teddy bears. His hope was that while the Moogles went ahead to distract the attack dogs, Locke would eliminate one or two of the guards, throw the entire search effort into confusion, and extract himself with the girl. He was, however, all too familiar with the fact that hope and reality rarely spoke the same language.

He could not dwell upon these thoughts, however; already, as he pressed himself close to the grooves in the cliff walls, he could see one of the guards moving down the central path, coming dangerously close to what Locke believed was a proper "defensive perimeter". Armed with a sword and dressed in white, the militiaman, in Locke's opinion, was a perfect target in these caves. Pressing himself tight against the wall, Locke took another quick glance at Terra, ensuring that she was lying there, still safe. It was likely that the guard would only see Terra before he got too close to Locke, and that his attention would be fixated on the girl; the guards had no idea Terra had backup in the form of a thief and eleven Moogles. Locke was sufficiently confident that he could get the drop on the guard.

True to expectations, the guard paused as he came closer, and Locke took that as the cue to tense his muscles in preparations to spring out; the guard obviously saw Terra, and was moving in for the kill as his footsteps became quicker, staying low, but ultimately coming in fast. A good textbook response, but, unfortunately, for the guard, the variety of information available to him was, sadly, woefully lacking. The guard had just reached the point where he would be passing through the groove that Locke was hiding himself in when Locke sprung out with a sudden burst of speed, his hand going for the man's throat. Locke wasn't the strongest man alive; most guards could probably outdo him in a competition of strength. But Locke had the advantage of speed and surprise, and the guard, judging by his shocked expression and his inability to act, didn't seem too keen on responding to an ambush.

This provided Locke with an opening, even as Locke used his right hand, which he considered as his dominant despite being slightly ambidextrous, to not only hold the man's throat as he slammed the guard against the wall, but also used it to guide his left fist in a hard attack at the top of the man's ribcage under his own right hand, right below the man's throat. Locke had learned the technique worked on just about every human being, male or female, and regardless of size. Scoring shots at the face, as well as the gut, were far too difficult and impractical, and a strong enough opponent could resist a few of those. Groin blows were not effective on women, not that Locke had ever tried. Deliver a blow to the position with sufficient force, however, and you force the throat to contract, leaving the victim painfully gasping for breath in a world gone airless, which was exactly what the guard did, dropping his spear as he withered to the ground, clutching at his throat in painful half-coughs that clearly were not making its way out. _Guard one down_, Locke thought.

Locke's slight satisfaction was short-lived. Immediately, down the hallway, came two attack dogs, huskies, moving down on him at high speeds. Locke scowled as he drew his knife; there was no way he was going to be able to deal with two attack dogs at once unarmed. Despite Locke's self-admitted skill, dogs were simply physically faster than humans, and Locke didn't want to be on the receiving end of those claws or jaws. _I thought the Moogles were supposed to be handling them_, Locke thought to himself as he prepared his blade as if to defend, but also tensed his leg muscles, preparing to jump upwards in the attempt to scale the walls to lose the dogs below him.

The timing of his jump was perfect, matched so that his rate of ascent, coupled with the huskies' velocity, would not interlink, meaning that the huskies would miss him by centimeters as he sought refuge by sticking himself to the ceiling of the cave. On the other hand, though, Locke found that it was not necessary; just as the canines prepared to jump, from both sides of the cavern suddenly sprang out eleven Moogles, who charged out from the hallways in two giant masses of furballs, wielding their weapons with their warcry. Locke almost lost his grip as he supported himself on the two walls of the cavern, sticking himself against the ceiling, watching this ridiculous display of overt force as he watched slightly agape with a slight sense of incredulity; the Moogles, small as they were, had crashed into the canines with enough force to divert their lunge and send them crashing to the ground, where the Moogles began to whack at the poor dogs with weapons with what Locke could only imagine was the strangest dogpile he had ever seen. The dogs had no chance of recovering and getting back on their legs, not with the massive Moogle tackle and the constant punishment they were receiving from a combination of spears, clubs, flails, and boomerangs. Within seven short seconds, the Moogles had had their way with the attack dogs, and they were on the ground, prone and whimpering, definitely alive, but out of the fight.

_Well_, Locke thought, _that takes care of that._

A slight squeak from the Moogles brought Locke out of his amusement; Locke looked ahead and saw that another guard was approaching, apparently, having heard the agonized whines of the attack dogs and wondering what was going on. The bad news: The guard had seen the Moogles, and immediately drew a submachine gun, pointing it in their direction. The Moogles seemed to have a good idea what a submachine gun was; with a choir of squeals, the Moogles quickly scattered fled from the scene as the guard fired off a few warning shots, none of them meant to hit their target, as the guards were determined not to accidentally hit their dogs. No one that was experienced with firearms deceived themselves into thinking they could aim so well with a submachine gun, and the Narshe militiamen, while not necessarily professionals, were definitely competent enough.

The good news: He did not see Locke still clinging onto the ceiling. And the guard was moving close enough for Locke to have the drop on him.

Locke could see no reason why he shouldn't.

A downward angle was too difficult for Locke to administer any non-lethal blows. He was not heavy enough to simply knock the guy unconscious with sheer weight alone, and knocking him down would probably serve nothing but an ultimately useless close-range struggle, which Locke was, admittedly, not particularly proficient at. Stealth, speed, and finesse were his forte, not direct melee. While he admitted he probably had the skill to produce good chances in disarming the guard fast enough and knocking him unconscious, with what was at stake, Locke didn't take chances. His rapid descent down from the ceiling was accompanied by the swift drawing of the knife, and, by the time Locke finally landed on the ground, the militiaman was gasping from a long, gaping wound that ran through his back. It was definitely enough to put him out of the picture as the militiaman collapsed onto the ground, becoming all too aware of his wounds, but, with rapid treatment, maybe he had a chance. That was what Locke was really counting on; if his comrades found him wounded, they may make evacuating him a priority, rather than looking for Terra and himself. The diversion of manpower, resources, and attention would be a welcome change of plans.

Already, sounds of agitated footsteps and crazed bark from further into the caves indicated that reinforcements were approaching, and that the remaining forces in the area were confused as to why they were losing contact with their own men. As much as Locke wanted to try to hold them back, he knew that it would be an improbability; he was severely outnumbered, and trying to hightail it was probably better than trying to make sure his tail was completely clear. Thankfully, though, leaving two wounded guards and two wounded canines would probably force them to at least halt to administer medical aid, diminish the amount of men they could sent on a hunt, and force them to be slower to avoid being ambushed. Locke could use that.

Quickly running back to the prone form of Terra, Locke skidded to a halt, preparing to pick her up, but paused in slight surprise as he noted the presence of the eleven Moogles, looking quite cheerful…and standing next to the prone forms of another two attack dogs, obviously having been humiliated by a handful of teddy bears with weapons. Locke couldn't help but chuckle as he put his hands on his hips, looking at the group of Moogles before him. "Looks like you really gave them hell," Locke noted dryly.

"Kupo!" the Moogles seemed enthusiastic in their agreement.

Locke nodded in response, looked back at the source of the sound of footsteps, growing louder but still distant. "I'm taking off with the girl," Locke turned back to the Moogles as he bent down and picked Terra up, slinging her over his shoulder as the Moogles helped him halfway, lifting her body just enough for him to adequately build up momentum without straining his back, "Keep them just busy enough for us to put some distance between us and this hellhole, alright?"

Hopping up and down, the Moogles only seemed too eager to comply as they piped together in consent.

"Thanks, Moogles," Locke grinned at the band of eleven just before he turned to flee out through the back exit, "We're in your debt. So you can keep this one on tabs and find the right time to cash in, gotcha?"

"Kupo!" the Moogles squealed in farewell as they waved their weapons in the air, as if assuring Locke nothing was getting past them and their weapons. Locke had a good feeling his tail was covered.

* * *

Sufficient running had put some distance between himself and where Locke believed the Narshe militiamen were now. Granted, he wasn't as agile as he would've wanted to be, not when he was carrying Terra, but he still made decent speed, and he knew enough about search tactics to know the guards were going to have a hell of a time trying to look for him at this rate. Already, the stone corridors flashing past him on both sides in a blur were coming to an end.

Coming upon a familiar-looking dead end, Locke skidded to a halt as he looked around, ensuring that this was certainly the right place, and that they haven't been followed or watched. Confident that they were alone, Locke gently set Terra down on the ground next to one of the inclines of the war, hiding her there just in case someone caught him unawares, and took a moment to heave a sigh, catching his breath after a rather extensive amount of running and hiding. _Screw this_, Locke thought with a slight drown as he began to make his way over to one of the walls in the cavern, barely lit by a minimal amount of torches, _I'm only twenty-five; I'm not ready to be all out-of-breath like this._ Then, of course, it couldn't be helped. With all the rumors of an imminent Imperial attack floating around, much more time was spent dropping into different places to gather information and intelligence rather than performing some handiwork with a knife.

By the time Locke had concluded his thoughts and returned to reality, he was looking at a small switch on the cavern wall, a small slab of rock on the wall that was of just a slightly different color. While it would've seemed usual for any normal passerby, any suspicious individual could easily locate and identify it. There were actually plenty of these throughout Narshe; when the town was first founded, the initial intent was to have a method of transport throughout the town should Narshe come under attack. If overwhelmed by superior firepower, they could always fall back into the mines, then proceed to either evacuate civilians through those secret pathways, or outflank the attackers. However, as Narshe became secure in its position, confident that it would not be attacked, many of these secret passages were forgotten about, ancient relics of the past.

Though Narshe wasn't Locke's hometown, he had always taken some interest in "ancient relics", and he most certainly didn't forget. "This switch ought to do the trick," Locke grinned as he pulled at the switch, his gloved fingers gripping onto the rock tightly enough and sliding it downwards. Immediately, behind the cavern walls, the low groaning of gears was audible as the teeth of those cogs turned, and Locke turned around with some satisfaction; already, a small gap was forming as the brilliant white light of Narshe's daytime sun began to trickle into the cavern, forcing Locke to squint his eyes even as he began to move out of sight. If the door opened and Narshe guards came in looking for whatever was inside, Locke wanted to make sure that he got the drop on them, and not the other way around.

From the outside, mechanical gears had slid a small portion of the cliff wall away, moving it along its tracks to reveal an opening, a door, in which Locke and Terra could leave through. Locke pressed himself against the wall once more, his knife arm holding onto the dagger's handle as he peeked past the opening, allowing his eyes to adjust quickly into the sunlight, and searched for any possible Narshe guards out there.

There were none.

Motion in the peripheral of his vision caught his attention, and Locke snapped his head in that direction in slight alarm, then heaved a slight sigh of relief as he realized what the motion was. The girl in red, Terra, had managed to push her upper body upright, having regained consciousness and sitting in a half-prone position, attempting to shake the grogginess out of her. One hand was supporting her upper body, pushing against the dirt ground, while the other was curled into a fist as she rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. Locke grinned as he took his hand off the handle of his dagger and crossed his arms, making his way towards Terra. "Hey," Locke called out as a means of a friendly greeting, "Back with us now, eh?"

Terra's eyes went wide open as she turned to face Locke, and Locke regretted having spoken so soon; Terra's surprise and shock at Locke's presence were evident, but, for some reason, mixed into that terrified glance Terra was giving Locke was also a strange, savage, menacing glare that Locke found uncomfortable being on the receiving end of. However, when Locke blinked, the glare had disappeared, paving way for genuine and complete fear; Locke shook his head in resignation. He must've been imagining things. It was probably in self-defense, for both of them, anyways. Terra had been chased back and forth by guards and attack dogs with absolutely no idea of what had happened to her, and Locke, in his line of work, learned to trust as few people as possible.

"Hey, hey, now," Locke said gently, raising both his hands up in a peaceful gesture to indicate his lack of hostility, "You're safe now. See? No bad guys around. Just us, and we're getting the hell out of here. You're safe. You're going to be fine."

Terra blinked twice, seemingly uncertain, as she clasped her hands to her chest in a self-defensive gesture, her eyes darting left and right, ensuring that there were not any threats around. Locke stood there at an impasse, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. Patience and technique worked this time, however; Terra seemed to settle down as the panic left her eyes, replaced with uncertainty, but she was definitely calm as she settled her eyes back onto Locke. "You…" Terra asked tentatively, looking at Locke, then turning her head around cautiously, as if making sure one last time that there was truly no one else around, "…saved me?"

Locke chuckled, tapped the toes of his boot against the dirt ground once, shrugging. "I don't like taking praise where it isn't due," Locke grinned, and made a pointing motion of his shoulder with his thumb, "Save your thanks for the Moogles; not sure I could've done it without them."

Terra blinked, seemingly clueless about what Locke was talking about. "Moo…gles?" Terra whispered the word slowly, slowly putting her free hand close to the mouth, as if she wanted to feel her lips uttering the word; "Moogles" came out strange as she said it, for a reason Locke had yet to understand, as if the word was something alien, something exotic, in Terra's mouth.

"Yeah," Locke blinked, slightly surprised at Terra's confusion, and extended a hand in explanation, "Moogles. You know, those…" Locke attempted to find a better alternative to what he had in mind, failed, and sighed, "…those white little teddy bear things?"

Terra paused once more, her gaze going distant, and Locke suddenly felt uncomfortable, feeling as if Terra was looking at something…invisible, an ethereal plane that Locke couldn't see. Her eyes became so deep and blank that he felt as if Terra's soul was no longer in her body, as if she was seeing something that made her not of this world…but as soon as that thought coursed through Locke's mind, Terra suddenly left out a soft, muffled cry as her hands went to her head, a lightning bolt having screeched across her mind and having its way with her, startling Locke to considerable alarm.

"Hey!" Locke started, sliding down towards Terra as he clutched at Terra's shoulder, trying to shake her out of it or, at least, give her some semblance of mental rapport in the form of physical support, "Are you okay? Snap out of it!"

"Ugh," Terra groaned, clutching at her head in obvious pain, her eyes tightly closed shut, "I can't remember a thing…"

Locke blinked. "What?" he made out pathetically.

Terra opened her eyes slowly, looked up at Locke with an expression that Locke found terrifyingly melancholic, the eyes of a girl who seemed extraordinarily lost and afraid. "It's…" Terra whispered, "…it's…like my mind's trapped in a fog…"

Locke blinked, then squinted his eyes in what seemed to be like suspicion, but checked that motion immediately. "You lost your memory…huh…" was what made it out of Locke's lips. _Well, of course she did_, Locke thought, seemingly a bit embarrassed that he was even suspicious of the girl in the first place, _seeing how, you know, she had the slave crown and all that. I'm looking for shadows where they don't exist._

Terra seemed to suddenly seem surprised that she was saying it out loud, and looked at Locke with what almost seemed like an expression of panic, which put Locke slightly off-guard. "A…A man said it would come back…!" Terra added quickly, seemingly regretting having revealed she had no memories, then, as if seeming certain, averted her gaze elsewhere, resignedly muttering, "…Eventually…"

_H-Hey_, Locke thought, not sure what to think as he tried to keep a straight face on as he looked at Terra, _don't look at me with those eyes like that. I can't stand those._ "So," Locke shrugged, displaying an aura of seemingly nonchalance about it all, "you've got amnesia..." Locke grinned in a devil-may-care manner, hoping it would help Terra relax some, if she was even looking at him, "…So what? Don't worry about it. I've got a request from a mutual friend making sure you're going to be all okay, so I'm not going to leave your side until those memories of yours return."

Seemingly surprised at those words, Terra looked at Locke with a mingled expression of confusion, suspicion, and relief, apparently not quite understanding what was going on. It was probably the conclusion of the fact that Terra had little idea what Locke wanted, but was equally glad that it seemed she, superficially, had an ally so far. Locke seemed to catch up on the meaning behind Terra's glance, and chuckled as he stepped forth, offering a hand to help her back onto her feet. "I'm not going to abandon someone just because they lost their memories," Locke grinned, extending his hand towards Terra, "Trust me on this; I'll keep you safe. Promise. I don't like breaking them."

Terra looked at Locke's hand uncertainly for a moment, as if not sure what to do, before slowly, shyly, moving her hand toward Locke's own, still unsure, but, in Locke's opinion, ultimately headed in the right direction. "Come on," Locke grinned as he finished the motion, reaching forward even more to grab Terra's hand, much to her surprise, and pulling her up to her feet effortlessly, "Time's a wasting. Let's get going."

"Ah…yes…" Terra made out lamely as she was dragged along, her gait uncertain as her feet stumbled across the steps Locke was pulling her along, still confused and uncertain, but ultimately glad that there seemed to be someone, finally, someone, who was going to watch out for her in a world she did not recognize, in a world out to get her.

The two disappeared into the light as the gears to the hidden entrance began to spin again, sealing off the mine caverns and whatever had been plaguing Terra's mind.

* * *

Author's Note: God, that took forever. Almost six months since my last update; at least I know I didn't take a year. I know the ending seemed a bit rushed, but my goal was to finish the chapter as soon as possible after a three month hiatus that prevented me from writing anything after the Moogles first showed up. Hopefully, it didn't come out too bad; I know I hit a tremendous writer's block.

I know the chapter started a bit awkwardly with an older Celes in present time suddenly showing up. I wanted the chapter to focus primarily on Celes, yet, with six other officers in the room, two of whom will play an important role soon (you'll find out what, although I suspect many will have seen it a mile away), it was really difficult to really try and focus primarily on Celes, and I can't say I was satisfied with the outcome. On the other hand, though, I didn't want to delete that part; identifying who these officers are is going to be an important step towards something else in the story later.

You'll notice that I skipped the part where Terra remembers what Kefka had done to her. That was intentional; there will come a time when I explain everyone's backstories…somewhere in the far off future. You'll know when I get there.

I also made a few changes to Locke's core personality…which isn't actually the core basis of his personality, but, moreover, the way he acts. Rather than _just_ a thief, I'm trying to portray as Locke as someone more confident, someone fluent in espionage and black-ops, someone to do the dirty work for the Returners. He's not _quite_ Solid Snake, but perhaps a bit closer to that than how the game portrayed him.

Now, moving onto some of the reviews…

**Peptuck:** I, good sir, thank thee; it has been a very, very long while since I received a review as constructive as yours. This is the way reviews should be done. I thank thee muchly.

I can tell you, first, that my chapters generally are not this long; before Children of the Magi, my chapters were ten pages, maximum. Actually, I had been used to nine-page chapters. The prologue, I felt, was too important and too (please pardon my lack of modesty) powerful to not put into a single delivery; I would've felt it was a crime to separate it into separate chapters. I do NOT intend to write a chapter this long ever again, though, so rest assured; you SHOULD be able to read the rest of my chapters in a single sitting from here on out. XD

I realized my error with a six-year-old Terra running around...then, again, I suppose the Imperials were relying too heavily on their edict, and Cyne was not available at the time. It's really more of a "we'd rather have Terra working for us willingly" scenario, I guess. Then, again, I suppose that's why a dozen people got torched. Go gross overconfidence. I'm really glad you like my depiction of Terra and Celes in their younger forms, though.

As for Biggs and Wedge (heehee), yes, I realize that simulations of the mission would be conducted beforehand (I have Rainbow Six and Band of Brothers, the books, mind you, to thank for that basic tidbit), but, yes, as you have pointed out, time was of the essence. I suppose I misused the words, however; what I meant was that, as opposed to sending an entire army down on Narshe, a precision strike, meaning a swift swathing maneuver, into Narshe would be much more practical than sending a conventional army. As for technology...well, we'll see.

Again, thanks muchly for the review. I hope to see more of this stuff from you. X3


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